Barbie or, The Modern Prometheus
by casi.croaks
Summary: Kelly is nervous about her school grades, since she couldn't manage to dissect a frog in science class. Luckily for her, Barbie, her tutor, has just the right tale to motivate her to try harder and pass her exams -and, who knows, maybe even learn a valuable lesson...
1. Chapter 1

_BARBIE_

_or, The Modern Prometheus_

_"__I grew up with the idea that a woman –a mother –with a job was neither strange nor unnatural",_

_Ruth Handler_

It was a dark, stormy night in the small coastal town. The raindrops, harmless by themselves, violently struck the windowpanes of young Kelly's house. She was sitting at her kitchen table, next to the large bay windows, so she felt surrounded by the unceasing, rattling sound. Kelly chewed on the end of her pencil, gazing at all the pages of her biology textbooks, feeling deeply upset. Barbie, in her usual cheery disposition, smiled at her.

"What's wrong, Kelly?" she asked.

"Oh, Barbie… My mother will be so angry when she finds out how I did today in science class."

"How so? What happened?"

"We were asked to dissect a frog… And I just couldn't do it."

"Why? Were you sorry for the little frog?"

"Oh, no, of course not; it was dead already. I was just… A bit disgusted by the whole thing."

Kelly's tutor laughed. "But there's nothing disgusting about it! It's only natural to be curious about the inner workings of the marvelous machine that is the organic body."

"But, Barbie –I didn't need to slice the frog open! I could just buy a diagram or something of the sort, the kind that appears in those science magazines –or I could search for a video of someone else doing it on the internet—"

"Kelly," Barbie laughed again. "That cannot replace the real experience of witnessing the real components that make up a living being."

"I still think it's icky…"

Suddenly, a flash of lightning startled Kelly, as she saw the whole room –the tall doors, the cabinet filled with her parents' souvenirs of fascinating voyages, the textbooks and their illustrations of the nervous system, and Barbie herself –bleached in a bright, burning white before the darkness returned, interrupted only by the few candles that lighted the space. And, just as Kelly wondered when the light would come back so she could turn on the living room lamps, a loud booming thunder spooked her, and she let out a brief shriek.

"Why, why must it make that noise!" Kelly cried.

"Well," Barbie started explaining. "Thunder is caused by the lightning, which opens an air channel—"

"I know how thunder and lightning works –I'm just tired of the bright flashes and the terrible booming! I wish I could stop them altogether!"

To her surprise, Barbie didn't laugh. She just smiled bitterly, almost disappointed. It was not a normal look for her, and Kelly was just a little unnerved by it.

"The teacher said that if I don't finish the science project, he will fail me. But I can't fail this class –my parents will be fuming at the mere thought of it," Kelly protested, and huffed. "All this because I wouldn't cut up a little smelly frog."

Barbie looked at her student for a few minutes, while the rain continued to pour outside. The candle that lighted her smooth features flickered, casting changing shadows on her. Finally, Barbie moved her chair closer to Kelly's.

"I just want to pass this science exam," the young girl said. "I don't know why it's become so difficult for me."

"I know," said Barbie. "You just need to try a little harder, and find the courage to overcome your disgust, leave your repugnance behind and get it done."

Kelly looked down at the half done, messy drawing she had made, an attempt to illustrate the organs of a leopard frog. Without the actual physical model, she knew, she wouldn't be able to finish it.

"This reminds me…" Barbie said slowly. "Of something I've heard about, some time ago… About a girl who felt much like you once –conflicted, about what was the right thing to do."

Kelly blinked, intrigued. A new lightning struck, and thunder clapped again, but Kelly barely gritted her teeth. Barbie quickly glanced at the grandfather clock on the corner of the room –her shift would be over in a bit less than an hour –but if the story could help her young student, she thought, it would be worth spending the rest of the class telling it.

"Alright; this happened not so long ago, not so far from here…"

…

Vivianna Frankenstein was the eldest daughter of Dr Frankenstein, a respected scientist in a quiet, mysterious European town in Switzerland. She lived with her father, her little sister Marianna, and their servant boy Elliot in a beautiful, grand timber-framed house in the woods. Vivianna had tragically lost her mother, but she still had his loving father and sister, and the faithful servitude of Elliot, so she didn't feel too bad about it. After her passing, Dr Frankenstein had given Vivianna his lovely golden locket, where her mother's sweet face was forever immortalized. Wearing it, Vivianna felt her mother was always with her, in a certain way, dangling from her neck just over her heart.

Living in such a lavish house in such a quiet town meant that Vivianna didn't have many chances to make friends –in fact, she was rather quiet herself, and found herself to be quite awkward among new people, much to her own chagrin. Despite this, she had three true friends –four, perhaps, if one counts a little sister as a friend: Henrika, Willard, and Matt.

Henrika, whom she considered her bestest friend, looked very much like Vivianna: their biggest differences were that Henrika was a brunette, while Vivianna had blonde hair; beyond that, both had clear blue eyes and a youthful, oval face. Henrika had been Vivianna's closest friend since early childhood, and neither could imagine living without the other. They frequently spent time together, at sleepovers and museum visits, at the park or simply in each other's bedrooms, singing their favorite songs, chatting away the hours and dreaming of their futures.

Willard, on the other hand, was a rat. He was Vivianna's pet rat, who often tried to communicate with her owner with little high pitched squeaks and squeals that most people besides Vivianna felt were pretty annoying. Willard was a chubby rat, mostly due to the privileged life at the Frankenstein's home, but he was still very much nimble and quick on his tiny feet. Vivianna loved him dearly, almost as much as she loved Henrika: she fed him cashew and pecans, stroked his soft fur every now and then to show him her affection, and kept him safe in her dollhouse besides her bed when Dr Frankenstein wished to spend a peaceful evening.

Matthew, or Matt for short, finally, was a chap around Vivianna's age, an orphan who Mrs Frankenstein had adopted once while she was travelling somewhere other than Europe. She had chosen Matt from several other boys –street urchins, living without food or shelter –when she realized he was the most likely of the bunch to grow to be a handsome young man, the cleanest one and the least sick and scarred. Matt lived with the Frankensteins for a while, as a surrogate brother to Vivianna. After Marianna's birth, though, and especially after Mrs Frankenstein's death, Matt was sent to live with his personal tutor in a cottage not far from the family's house, paid by the Frankensteins, to complete his education without distractions. It was Dr Frankenstein's plan, and one he had shared with his wife for quite some time, for Matt to marry Vivianna one day. Mrs Frankenstein often remarked what a lovely couple they would be; neither of the children were particularly interested in the other in a romantic sense, but they liked each other well enough, and had no problem playing together and spending play dates and evenings along with Henrika, going to the movies, having ice creams, hiking in the woods, performing little amateur productions of Greek myths, and the like.

Vivianna had grown into a gorgeous young woman by the time this story properly begins: and like all young women, she had a particular interest that concentrated all her time and attention: sewing. She was an extremely skilled seamstress, capable of reconstructing complex historical costumes and fixing almost every piece of clothing that ever appeared to have a tear, a hole or a ripped seam. But –and this she kept a secret –she had another interest –something unheard of: Vivianna was fascinated by science, the science her father dedicated his life to. Despite her evident passion for the textile arts, she read science books by candlelight, covered by the dark of night. Vivianna knew that people wouldn't understand her love of science –nobody would believe a pretty, nice, blonde, gown-wearing lady would find herself riveted by beakers, pipettes, funnels and all that sort of stuff.

Vivianna was especially interested in her father's greatest creation: an advanced piece of machinery, full of cogs and screws and gears, which could accurately predict the weather in no time. The townsfolk, confounded by his invention, called the machine the Rainmaker, and believed it to be magic. Vivianna felt the same way her father did –a sort of light amusement at the beliefs of the common people, of those who still insisted that the device was a scam and that it was Dr Frankenstein who summoned the clouds and the storms.

These people stopped saying so, when Dr Frankenstein died suddenly during a fine summer afternoon. He was taking a walk when he was surprised by a light drizzle –not even something that merited pulling up his collar –and he continued his promenade by the countryside when a lightning struck him and killed him instantly. Vivianna and Marianna found themselves orphaned, and they mourned their dear father for the appropriate amount of time, confining themselves to their home, to the sympathetic company of Henrika and Matt, to the service of the similarly grieving Elliot, who considered Dr Frankenstein the father he never had. Nothing much had truly changed, after a while, just the amount of rooms in the great house that were inhabited.

Vivianna considered the death of his father her call to adventure: she suddenly felt the uncontainable need to travel, to see the world, to leave her quiet town and seek excitement and new experiences. So, one sunny morning, Vivianna packed her bags, gave Marianna a hug and her golden locket, and left her known world to pursue a higher education. She promised Marianna, Henrika and Matt to write as often as she could, once she found a good place to settle for a while. Undeniably, Vivianna felt a pit in her stomach to think that she wouldn't continue with her familiar routines, that she wouldn't see her dear friend Henrika's face for some time, but Willard her pet rat squeaked excitedly in her travel satchel, and so, even without her mother's locket, Vivianna felt less alone.

…

While on her journey, stopping from time to time to darn a hole in a sock and to see the wonderful views her unnamed homeland had to offer her, Vivianna continued her reading and studying of the sciences: she annotated her ideas and thoughts in a little leather-bound notepad, which she could safely close so Willard wouldn't nibble at the edges. During one of her stops at a charming little roadside hotel, by the light of a full moon, she thought of her father's untimely death, her mother's tragic demise, and wondered about the limits of science –that which the townfolk considered magic. Vivianna tossed and turned, thinking about doing the impossible –of deciding to do that which others would consider a miracle, that which would bring her the respect and admiration she so dearly desired. Unable to sleep, she scribbled her thoughts on her notepad, added a little P.S. to her latest letter to Henrika, and pulled Willard closer to her, feeling his little heart beating fast under his furry pelt, and went on dreaming wide awake, wondering and pondering. On her nightstand, written hastily on the open pages of her notepad, one could read "_bring the dead to life?_"

…

She was still quite lucky, despite all. Vivianna soon found herself in a bustling city known for its prestigious science academies, and overjoyed at finding what she was searching for so long, she immediately paid the extremely high tuition and attended all the classes she thought were instrumental to her learning all that was necessary to pursue and fulfill her dream of doing the impossible. As much as she wished to share it with all, Vivianna kept her project to herself, thinking that doing otherwise could be quite detrimental –as she felt her ideas would be shunned, her opinions mocked, and ultimately be left without the needed resources to complete her vision. And so, she kept her thoughts and her words to herself, barely speaking in class beyond answering science-related questions and providing excuses as to why she had a curious, high-pitched-sounding bulge on her satchel in which she had to drop several raisins every now and then.

Her refusal to socialize worked perfectly, and nobody ever bothered her with questions, or even with greetings. Vivianna Frankenstein, of course, was still seen as the beautiful, slender, well dressed blonde beauty everyone recognized by her famous surname and high social standing, but as the days went on she became a mysterious figure, silent and single-minded, writing the hours away, using her voice only to show off her quickly growing knowledge and to, as some said, chat quietly with her satchel when she thought nobody was looking. Not even the mean girls at the academy could bother her: she ignored their rumors, their jealous gossip, the slander they tried to spread across the students. Some said she had killed her own parents; some said she sewed her own clothes, like a pauper would; some said she was engaged in illegal activities, that she trafficked organs and that she laid with the dead; some said she could talk to rats. But her striking beauty –since as she grew older, her loveliness only grew as well –protected her from people truly believing the malicious comments said behind her back and to her face. No one, however, could deny that she was working on something, and the question was no more who was she, but whatever she was building in her dorm.

Vivianna, indeed, was building experiments –more complex versions of the simulacra done in the science classes. She tampered with several types of chemicals and alternated electricity and heat to produce a formula that could bring her the certainty she needed to conduct her ultimate experiment. Sometimes, very rarely, she interviewed and questioned the professors on different, difficult subjects, but never gave a straight answer when she herself was questioned. The letters to Henrika and to Matt and Marianna came out of her dorm every week, and every week their letters entered through the thin space between the door of her dorm and the floor. When one of the most jealous girls managed to steal one of these letters, she woke up the next morning with all her clothes nibbled, ripped and torn, with the bottom of her closet mysteriously sprinkled with what seemed to be rat feces. She attempted to denounce Vivianna as the one who vandalized her dorm, but to no avail. Vivianna was soon such an unstoppable force at the science academy that after that particular incident, by necessity, the rumors quieted down and her name because taboo during lunch breaks and spare time. Everyone became afraid of her. Vivianna, so absorbed by her work, could barely register this as a change in her new routine.

…

It was during a storm –however much stronger than that in which her father had died –that Vivianna felt prepared to go ahead with her ultimate experiment, having found what she believed were the essential elements to achieve her goal. Willard clawed at her shoulder, his little whiskers trembling with anticipation. It was past midnight on a weekday, and as such the other students were surely all fast asleep.

Vivianna tied her hair on a neat braid bun, put on her carefully sewn baby blue apron –made to fit her perfectly, made to avoid any suspicious stains on her regular clothes –and slipped her manicured fingers into the washable, custom-fitted gloves she had prepared for her more "hands-on" parts of her project. She left Willard by her side, next to the clock, with a little plate with plenty of nuts for him to snack when he saw fit. Vivianna hadn't eaten in quite a few days. And, if the assembling of the parts of her project was going to be as arduous as she expected it to be, she figured there would be few chances to stop and feed her little friend.

The work started, and it indeed took her a lot of effort and several hours; but when the work was finished, and the experiment was ready to begin in earnest, she felt a pride Vivianna hadn't felt in quite some time. She took a moment to breathe deeply, to smile and think of her achievements, of Henrika's marveled expression, of Matt and Marianna's admiration, of her triumph over death. And so, she brought the lighting and the fire into her darkened dorm room. The creature she had delicately laid upon the bed, wrapped with leftover strips of spare fabric, tied all together and perfectly measured to conform to Vivianna's desires, was pierced by needles connected to wires, connected to batteries, loaded to their full capacities. Light flashed as the creature, the human-like figure which almost seemed to be sleeping in that stormy, violent dawn, was shocked into reaction. In conjunction with the prepared chemicals and the carefully applied heat, there was sizzling and buzzing, smoke and tears from Vivianna's weary eyes, screeched from the terrified Willard, and the final, almost explosive roar of thunder, when the batteries and the needles and the tubes all burst with one last, dramatic shower of sparks.

All quieted down. Silence and darkness returned, and Vivianna, with trembling fingers, lit up a single candle. She picked up Willard and put him on her shoulder, and he quickly nested against her neck, seeking her comfort. Vivianna ignored him. She took her candle closer to her creation –and before even being able to take a proper look at it, she adverted how the chest expanded as it took its first deep breath –and how its eyes opened, suddenly, like curtains being swiftly pulled up.

"It's alive," she whispered to Willard, or perhaps to herself.

But Vivianna was not overjoyed. She was not proud. And she was not happy at all. As soon as she could see what she had done, what she had brought to life, she recoiled in disgust and withdrew the light from it, as if, in darkness, it would disappear like a child's nightmare.

Vivianna had attempted to make her creature in her image: she sought, as she was brought up, only the most delicate and striking beauty. She saw no reason as to give life to a being devoid of pleasant features, of perfectly shaped limbs, of the most perfect pieces she could manage to get her hands on. And so, Vivianna had fished her parts from very select places: the most cared-for, elite parts of the cemetery, where models and actresses were buried as they left too soon, too young; the dumpsters of shopping malls and large stores, where the broken mannequins were disposed of, but which could still be of use. She had washed everything so meticulously, taking the grime and the blood from nails, from crevices, better than the most professional mortician. Vivianna had used her sewing skills to attach the disparate limbs, to select and put together those fingers she found the nimblest, the lips she found the fullest, the feet she found the daintiest. When good parts were not available, that's when the mannequins came of aid. She used heat to melt the plastic of the mannequin parts into the flesh, to attach everything neatly, cleanly, perfectly. Perfectly. Vivianna had never worked on anything as much, with as much attention to detail, with so much effort and hope. In her mind, the creature –her very own doll –would be perfect.

Perfect! Her own creation, perfect! As the heat of life animated the body, the seams became evident, the lines between skin and plastic. The scars of the stitching, that which Vivianna had done by hand, had not healed as well as she had expected; a newly beating heart pounded blood into the veins, and that blood leaked and dripped slowly through the badly sealed holes of the doll's body. And beyond the skin… Vivianna felt sick to her stomach. She had attempted, in her pursuit of perfection, to copy herself –but even better, even more beautiful, with all those features Vivianna wished would be enhanced. But in her pursuit, the body's proportions were extreme and deeply uncanny. It was all about small, off measurements: the bust, slightly too big for any human; the waist, just a bit too small, small enough to be wasp-like; the length of the legs, leaning toward the monstrous. And the features –the huge, blue, glassy eyes, surrounded by long, full lashes; the full, reddened, vein-crossed lips, which the doll could barely open in a forced pout; the tiny, thin nose, through which the doll tried its best to breathe; and the full head of blonde hair which, in the process had burned in places, or had become dirty and frizzy and greasy and stringy. Perhaps, Vivianna managed to think, it was what the magic of animation did to her creature: as a still figure, much like a mannequin, it could be slightly unsettling but, all things considered, a thing of beauty; but in the flesh, moving like –or how it imagined like –a person would move –something was so terribly off in how it moved, in how the body reacted to the movement, in how everything was placed and tried to place itself in the space.

The doll tried to sit on the bed –tried to arch its back and lean forward properly, slowly, and bend its long legs; but something went wrong in its calculations, and it fell to the floor. Vivianna gasped and retreated, feeling Willard's claws sinking deeper into her shoulder. Then the doll managed to open its plump mouth and let out a noise –a hoarse, painful sound –and Vivianna could not take it any further. She flung open her dorm room door, ran through the hall, got out of the building, reached the street, and continued running, despite the rain, despite the thunder, despite the lightning, despite the heaviness that the water gave her as it soaked her baby blue apron, her neatly tied hair, her puffy sleeved pink blouse, her full navy skirt, her lace-trimmed petticoat, and as the mud slowed her patent-leather kitten heel shoes. Vivianna felt the weight on her, felt her damp hair covering the tiny, warm, trembling body of Willard still fixed upon her shoulder, she felt how she was slowed down, but she did not stop running.

…

Vivianna woke up in her underdress, lying on mint green silk sheets, her feet clean from mud and her face no longer cold and wet. She blinked, trying to recognize her surroundings. There was the crackling of fire, and a warm, cozy feeling, and smell of fresh bread. She wondered if she had died and this was heaven. Then she managed to focus her eyes, and saw the fireplace in the bedroom where she was in, with the rich velvet curtains drawn, the mahogany furniture neatly set against the white walls, and on the nightstand next to her, Willard, all puffed and dried and clean, too, nibbling on an assortment of nuts set aside in a small glass bowl for him.

Vivianna sat in the bed, trying to remember what happened. She remembered the rain, the fear clouding her mind, the ghastly feeling of air not entering her lungs. Then she recalled the darkness of her dorm room, and the sparks and the flashes of white light, and the flickering of a candle flame as it revealed such a horrible vision…

The door opened and Vivianna jumped and tensed. To her surprise, Henrika, of all people, entered the bedroom with a large smile and carrying a silver tray loaded with a full breakfast. Vivianna sighed in relief, and relaxed her shoulders. Henrika looked even more beautiful than ever, in the golden light of the hearth, in a long, silky white nightdress. Vivianna returned her smile. Henrika still tied up her hair like before, almost well enough, but with thin strands of hair lying everywhere, framing her face in such a lovely way.

"Good morning," said Henrika. "Or actually, good afternoon. Did you manage to rest?"

"What happened? Where am I?"

"I was going to pay you a visit, but then I found you halfway there," Henrika smiled, carefully setting the silver tray on Vivianna's lap. "You were so exhausted you could barely walk, you could barely open your eyes. I caught you before you fell to the ground. So I took you here, to my home in the city –you know I know how to take care of you."

Willard squeaked happily. Henrika laughed. "Yes, and I know how to take care of you too."

"I didn't know you had a home in the city…" said Vivianna, wanting to have her breakfast, but still not willing to let Henrika out of her sight, still wanting to hear her dearly missed voice.

"I told you about it in my last letter –you haven't been answering them, lately," said Henrika. "Neither Marianna's letters, nor Matt's –I still keep in touch with them, my beloved childhood friends; we meet every week, and we talk about how you have grown apart. We all missed you so much, Vivianna. It's not the same without you."

"Oh, Henrika…" moaned Vivianna, sinking her head in the pillow. "I've been absorbed with such a useless project… I have wasted so much time to something so awful…"

"No, no, Vivianna, don't concern yourself with that," said Henrika, sitting beside her on the bed. "You look so tired, so distressed… Please, for your own sake, rest. Have something good to eat. Talk to me, have someone to talk to… Besides Willard, I mean –I won't argue he's a great companion, but…"

Willard gave Henrika's hand a playful bite. Vivianna smiled.

"Thank you so, so much for giving us shelter during this storm, Henrika… We… I have missed you too, so much, so often."

Henrika smiled back at her. She leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Now you're home. You don't have to worry anymore."

Henrika stood up and turned around to leave. Vivianna almost called her back, not wanting her to leave just yet –somehow afraid that she had imagined Henrika, this whole scene, this whole situation that, after such horrors, seemed too good to be true. Henrika then turned backward, and smiled once more, her bright beautiful smile.

"Now eat! You look positively emaciated."

Vivianna smiled. She turned her attention down to the tray –there was golden-brown toasted bread, apple juice, cookies and tea with milk, honey and sugar all at her disposition. Vivianna felt as if she was back at her home in her little quiet town, back in her childhood, and wondered why she ever wished to leave all that which she loved.

…

Vivianna rested on Henrika's bed for a few days, but soon, as long as she wasn't asked anything about the night of the storm, she regained her cheerful disposition. Henrika's home became her home too, where she ate and slept and spent most of the time, as it was a rainy season indeed, and the mere sound of the raindrops sputtering against the windows during strong winds could set Vivianna on edge, make her tremble, and made Henrika fear strongly for her friend.

"Please, my dear –what is it that hurts you so much? Why the rain, why these sounds, that used to be so natural in the past, have become such a source of terror to you?" asked Henrika, when she couldn't keep quiet about it any longer. "Please, Vivianna, my dearest friend, my love –just tell me!"

"I can't –please, please, I can't!" cried Vivianna in response, and Henrika knew that there was no use. All she could do, then, she concluded, was to help her friend get through these painful moments, and be there to comfort her.

Some days she would find Vivianna locked up in the room, with Willard resting on her neck, covered in the green sheets, deep in thought, with her eyes lost somewhere far away. Those days Henrika would leave her be, and spent these hours on the verge of tears, wondering what had happened to her friend that had changed her so dramatically. Other days Vivianna would be perfectly happy but absolutely nervous, her eyes darting to each window, each door, as if expecting some kind of ghost to materialize and assault her. At least, Henrika thought, these days Vivianna would talk, and they would sew together, and chat and everything would be like before again. But the bad days outnumbered the bad, and finally, one sleepless night, Vivianna's cries were more than what Henrika could bear. She entered the dark bedroom where Vivianna was, curled against a fidgety Willard. At first Vivianna tensed and held her breath, but when she recognized her friend in the dim moonlight, she sighed, once more, and laid her head down.

"I'm sorry… Did I wake you up?" asked Vivianna.

"No, it's alright… I just wanted to know how you're doing."

Henrika kneeled next to the bed. Willard climbed out of the bed and onto her shoulder, and Henrika petted her for a while. Vivianna smiled.

"Here I am. Better than before… I hope worse than tomorrow."

Henrika returned the smile. "You'll get better. I know it. After your father died, I was really amazed… When my own mother died, when I was a child, I was a bit like you now… I didn't want to leave my bed."

"Really?" asked Vivianna. "How did you manage to leave, then?"

"I had you," answered Henrika. "And Marianna. And Matt, and Elliot… I had all of you to help me get through."

"I miss Marianna, and Matt, and… Yes, Elliot. I miss them all," said Vivianna. "I miss when we were children, and we would all play together, and things seemed to be so easy and simple…"

"I know," said Henrika, and she held Vivianna's hand. "But this is our life, now. There's no going back, so… I guess we should get used to this new situation."

Vivianna nodded. Henrika held Willard and set him on the nightstand, on a little pillow left there for him to sleep –both Henrika and Vivianna knew that Willard did love his owner, but was not a plush toy to always keep by her side.

"Could you… Stay, please?" asked Vivianna. "Here, with me? Tonight?"

"Of course. That's what I came for."

"Thank you."

Henrika rested her head against Vivianna's bed, still holding her hand. After a few seconds, Vivianna squeezed her friend's hand.

"Wouldn't you rather…?"

Henrika smiled, and climbed into bed with her. Vivianna closed her eyes and let Henrika embrace her and rest her head next to her neck. It was much different than the little warmth that Willard was able to give her. There was something special in the pressure of Henrika's arms around her, in the soft breathing on her nape, and the feeling of her, just her, near her. It brought memories of sleepovers, of secrets whispered under sheets, of stories shared as they began to yawn and try to stay awake a few minutes more. It made Vivianna so happy that, for a moment, she managed to erase the stormy night from her mind and focus on the love she felt.

…

After that night, Vivianna tried her best to get better. She went along Henrika on her morning strolls, they ate together and spent their time doing more or less the same things they did as children: they staged their favorite plays in the drawing room, they sang and drew and painted and played pirates and, even if they didn't have Marianne and Matt as their playmates to complete the group, they found themselves truly enjoying playing by themselves. Henrika showed Vivianna her talents at the piano, while Vivianna sang by her friend's side, and sometimes, suddenly interrupting their strolls, they ran races on the streets, often just because Henrika knew how Vivianna liked competitions and also because Vivianna knew that Henrika wanted her to recover her strength, and even if she often felt tired, she also wanted Henrika to be proud of her, to make her happy. So day by day, night by night, they recovered the time they had lost since Vivianna left her hometown, and Vivianna recovered her enthusiasm and her health.

As autumn neared, Henrika invited Vivianna to her father's winter retreat –a little cabin in the country, where Henrika used to spend many holidays. Vivianna, of course, accepted. She felt truly glad, despite all her improvement, to get away from the city. The changing color of the leaves made her realize how time truly passed, and how much she had changed, compared to the naïve girl she used to be. Having gone through so much, and still come out on the other side, have her hope for the future.

"You seem to be you again," said Henrika, one afternoon during their evening walk.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I see you smiling a lot more often. You laugh more. You have a warmer color on your cheeks, your hair is brighter… All of you, is brighter. I don't know if that makes sense…" Henrika chuckled.

"I understand. I do feel…" And Vivianna laughed, too. "Brighter, I guess."

They continued walking, silently. Sometimes silence felt right, curiously. Vivianne felt these silences differently than the ones she devoutly maintained at the science academy: it felt peaceful, as if some thoughts were better kept and developed by oneself, until it felt right to voice them. It became a way to be alone and at peace, in each other company.

Out of the blue, Vivianna smiled and sprinted, running through the field. She heard Henrika laughing behind her, and her quick steps on the drying grass. And as she kept running, feeling free without the crowds and noise of the city streets, she heard a soft rumble –a drop on her nose –and rain began to pour down, and Vivianna, almost instantly, slowed down and grinded to a halt.

"Viv?" asked Henrika, a few meters behind.

Vivianna breathed deeply, trying to focus on the field and the trees and the horizon, instead of the sound of the rain, the weight of the water as it pulled her down into the mud, and when the lightning lit up the sky, Henrika crashed against Vivianna in a firm embrace.

"Viv, my dear, please, it's alright," said Henrika, quietly, into her ear. "It's alright."

Vivianna looked up to the sky. The rain kept falling, getting into her eyes, and nothing else happened, and she felt her clothes getting heavier, and finding it difficult to breathe, but still, nothing else happened. She looked around. There was no one else in the field, besides her and Henrika. Vivianna turned around and looked at her friend's face. Her dark hair had become undone, and her face was soaking wet, and her face had slightly reddened after the effort of the run. Vivianna moved aside the strands of hair that stuck to her neck and temples. They gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, as they tried to see if the other was crying, which of them needed reassurance. And, at last, Vivianna embraced Henrika and kissed her, just as another flash of lightning struck, and somewhere, in the fields behind them, a tree caught on fire.

…

As Vivianna's health seemed to be restored, they received a letter from Matt, their old childhood friend. Both her and Henrika were overjoyed to hear from him again, and swiftly answered his letter with an invitation to visit them. Vivianna smiled, stroking Willard's fur, thinking of the three of them being together again, after so long.

Matt arrived one fine crisp morning, along with a clear blue sky. During the years they had been apart, Matt had become quite the handsome young man, just like Vivianna's mother had expected. He had become tall, even taller than her, and his fair curls framed his boyish face as if it was of a statue of a cherub in a church. Vivianna had always felt Matt was somehow angelic, whether in his gesture or his attitude: he had an infinite patience, an elegance perfected by years of fine schooling, and being alongside him made one feel either deeply at peace, knowing someone so gentle, or a powerful guilt, knowing one would never be as virtuous as him. He inspired a profound trust in anyone who met him, and ever since they were children and Matt became sort of a surrogate brother, Vivianna saw him unable of committing a single crime of mischief. At their age, after all she had been through, Vivianna couldn't help but feel even less deserving of his friendship, of his smiles; she knew something awful, and despite his kindness, nothing promised her that he would ever understand the reasons she did what she did.

Much like in the old days, Matt greeted her friends with a tight hug. Smiling wide, Matt looked at Vivianna up and down.

"My, Vivianna, how you've changed in these few years," said Matt. "Where have you been hiding for so long?"

"I've been studying," said Vivianna, lifting her chin. "What have you been doing?"

"I've been studying, too. It's only our dear Henrika who has been living the bohemian way."

"At least I've had fun," she replied playfully. "You both seemed to have been through the wringer of years of scheduled learning."

"I know you surely found other ways to keep you entertained," said Matt. "Well, what are we waiting for? Aren't you ready to go back home, Vivianna?"

"What do you mean?"

Matt frowned. "I mean back to your sister, Marianna. She has grown so much since you last saw her… I still frequent the house, where Elliot is caring for Marianna, for the home, for –well, everything. But…" he said, as he reached and held Vivianna's hand. "She's so anxious for you to come home. You are the eldest of the Frankensteins, you are all the family she's got."

"Oh, she's got Elliot to keep her company," said Vivianna, avoiding his gaze.

"Viv, you know Marianna loves you deeply. And I daresay, I think you once loved her too. But it's been so long I don't think you remember that you do."

"I've got my own issues to resolve. I cannot take care of a child now, not when I still have to finish my studies, when I—"

"I haven't come to nag you into returning," interrupted Matt, softly. "Please don't take this the wrong way. I just wanted you to know that I've been at the Frankenstein's home, I've been talking with Elliot, and with Marianna, and that you should know what's happening back there beyond what the letters say."

"If Marianna wanted me back, she would have simply told me," said Vivianna, hiding the fact that her younger sister had effectively asked her to come home, several times, in almost every single letter. But the idea of returning home and having to care for her –having to play the role of the mother, now that both their parents were gone –made her terrified. As much as she missed the old times, she did not feel able to set a foot back in her house.

"Let's not talk about unpleasant things," said Henrika. "Autumn is already here. It's time to spend time together, eat hearty meals, and enjoy the life that nature is clinging on to. Later, during the winter, we can go on and face whatever is that troubles us. Right now, life is for living it."

Vivianna smiled, glad that Henrika had covered for her. Matt, not wanting to argue with her old friends, sighed quietly and nodded.

The three of them spent many wonderful weeks together, waking up to the smell of freshly baked bread, enjoying the gentle crunching of the golden fallen leaves during their walks in the woods, and having nightly concertos in the drawing room, where Henrika played her piano, Matt played his violin, and Vivianna sang in a clear, merry voice. And when they left for bed, around midnight, Vivianna looked into the tired but blissful faces of her friends, and hoped these moments lasted forever, and that winter never came.

…

During the first snowy morning, Matt said his goodbyes, kissed each of his friends on the cheek and left to return to his home and his studies. Before parting ways, Vivianna, still guilty by the words he had said to her, had promised Matt that he, Henrika and herself would return, together, to the Frankenstein house for the holidays, as a surprise to young Marianna. Matt had smiled widely and agreed that it was a wonderful idea, and so the plan was made, and a date was set. Hearing this, Henrika, proud of her, had kissed her sweetly and squeezed her hand. She knew that it was a big decision for Vivianna, and she knew that she had nothing but support from Henrika.

As the winter settled in the woods, covering everything with its white and silver mantle, the regular walks became less regular, and soon Vivianna and Henrika spent more time at home, cuddling together under warm blankets, drinking hot tea and chocolate, and singing during the cold, dark nights. The cold and the foggy windows made Vivianna feel like the little cabin in the woods had become still in time, frozen like if inside a little snow globe. She made an active effort to avoid looking at the calendar, avoid counting the days to return. Letters from Marianna became less frequent, until one came, not in her usual small powder blue envelopes –but in a rough beige paper, with the address coarsely scribbled on.

Vivianna frowned when she saw it, wondering who had written it. As she tore it open, while Henrika lounged and read on the chaise-longue, she realized it was Elliot's. His handwriting was somewhat lacking, but still, it was not too difficult to understand. She began to read it rather uninterestedly, expecting there to be a petition for more money or the like; but as Vivianna continued reading, the words became messy, the paragraphs less neat, and soon the sentences seemed to spill out of the page, leaning downwards, the ink blotting and speckling the last inches of the coarse paper. She left the letter on her lap. Henrika raised her eyes from the book and asked her what had happened. Vivianna was unable to answer. Henrika left her book and walked to her, insisting, nervous. Vivianna then raised her own watery eyes to her. Henrika took the letter. She read it quickly, and dropped it in shock, and covered her mouth to stifle a cry.

Marianna was dead. She had been strangled and killed, while walking on the woods near the Frankenstein home. Marianna knew these woods perfectly well, and used to spend her lonely afternoons searching for butterflies, beetles and other fascinating bugs to add to the collection that had been spreading to the rest of the large and many rooms that were empty after her family had left her. Elliot said that he had called her to dinner, but when she did not come, he set out to look for her; he had found the golden locket Marianna never parted with, and became afraid for her; he followed the path marked by her small footprints on the mud, and found her body lying next to a tree, eyes wide awake, with the killer's blue-hued hand markings on her neck. He had cried and screamed, embracing the child, wetting her golden locks with his tears. Elliot then called the authorities, back from the house, having left Marianna's corpse where it was, unwilling to touch it again –as the body had slowly become colder and stiffer.

Elliot asked Vivianna to return, to pay her respects at the funeral, and to help with the legal proceedings. Vivianna felt once again unable to do so; she could not bear to see her younger sister's face, still forever, the colors of life taken so soon from her. But Henrika told her she would be by her side, and that she would support her, no matter what. As soon as he heard, Matt sent them a letter promising to be at the funeral, to pay his respects and help say goodbye to the poor child.

Vivianna and Henrika arrived to the Frankenstein house during a steely-sky morning, where the cold winds were so strong it nipped at their lips and noses. Vivianna, still in shock, could not find in her the tears to shed. Willard, nestled in her black coat pocket, wrapped itself on to her hand, warming her as only he could. Henrika held her other hand, squeezing it tightly, a bit for comfort and a bit to keep her present. Henrika could not possibly imagine what it was like, to lose everyone in her family. She kissed Vivianna's temple to give her strength, and both entered the grand doors back to the imposing house.

The funeral was a quiet, solemn affair. Very few people attended –Marianna did not know many people, as she mostly stayed at home –and Matt and Henrika did not know how to talk to Vivianna, such a state she was in. After the lawyers, the governesses and the reporters left, Matt offered to prepare some tea. Henrika and Matt had a light meal on the main drawing room. Vivianna could not take a bite of anything. She walked up the stairs and wandered the rooms of her house, as the light faded in the twilight and the whole place sank into soft violets and blues. Vivianna didn't turn on a single light; to her surprise, she knew exactly where everything was, even in the dark. She had forgotten nothing.

Vivianna entered her old bedroom. Her bed was made, her desk exactly as she left it, everything neatly set in its place and carefully dusted and cleaned. There was her sewing machine, her rolls of fabric, the round tin box where she kept all her bobbins and threads. The sight of the dollhouse next to her nightstand, which used to be Willard's little home, made her little friend quite happy, and she smiled, glad that at least someone was happy to be back. Vivianna then entered the family library, the place where she used to spend so much time as a child. All the books were there, some even on the large tables, the books on entomology Marianna used to devour deep into the night. She entered her late sister's room. The walls were all covered with framed butterflies, moths, beetles, bees and dragonflies, all neatly named and organized and pinned and set under glass. Vivianna stepped in, gazed at the desk where she organized her insects, her pins and needles and magnifying glasses. She then continued to the other rooms, the ones that didn't truly had a purpose. They had all become wallpapered by the frames of hundreds of insects, so many that as the last rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, the glass on the frames shone so bright like a flash of lightning. So many rooms, filled only with these framed bugs.

Vivianna walked down the stairs, back into the light of the lit hearth, into the warmth of the company of her friends. They both gazed at her sympathetically, though Vivianna had the feeling that both were wondering why she hadn't shed a single tear yet.

"Where's… Where's Elliot?" asked Vivianna, coming out of her daze.

Henrika stared at her, confused. Matt grinded his teeth.

"He has been taken by the authorities, Viv," said Henrika. "They told you so. He's being investigated for being the only one in the house, the only suspect."

Vivianna looked back at her friends. Matt covered his mouth, his knees trembling. He was on the verge of tears.

"Elliot?"

"I can't possibly imagine him being the killer," said Henrika. "He never held anything but affection and care for young Marianna."

"Elliot would have no reason to kill her."

"I told the authorities so, but they say that that does not change the fact that… For so long, he was the only one in the house with her. There are no other suspects. What else can they assume?"

Vivianna looked at Matt. He was awfully quiet. She knew Matt had been close to Elliot –the one of them three who had kept contact with him. Since Henrika had been caring for Vivianna, she hadn't had the chance to stop by Marianna and Elliot's, and so Matt had often been the only one to pay them any visits.

"Elliot didn't do it," said Matt, suddenly, taking the hand off his mouth. "He couldn't…"

Henrika and Vivianna kept silent, in agreement. Vivianna approached the foggy window and wiped it, as she tried to see the woods surrounding them. It was completely dark outside, only so often lit dimly when the clouds pulled away to reveal the light of the full moon. When it did so, however, the snowy grounds sparkled delicately, as if covered in diamonds. Willard climbed to her shoulder and pressed his head into her neck, asking for comfort. Vivianna petted him absentmindedly. She kept gazing through the window, breathing softly, trying not to fog the window with her breath. She could not bear to look at her friends right then. She didn't want them to see her grieve.

Suddenly she saw movement among the trees. The clouds had returned, there was nothing but the soft reflection of the sole warm window light on the nearby trees, but this was enough to reveal movement in the bushes, in the empty branches, and it didn't appear to be the wind. Vivianna held her breath and leaned forward, her nose almost touching the cold glass. The moonlight returned –casting its brilliant white light on the woods –and Vivianna distinguished the distinct silhouette of _it_, her monster, her creation, the misshapen being she had brought to life and had tried oh so hard to erase from her memory, as if, forgetting it, she could make it disappear.

And, to her horror, the silhouette turned and looked back at her.

Vivianna's heart skipped a beat. She let out a soft gasp, and tensed, but did not react any further. Her face was stone cold. Vivianna only stared, a flurry of questions and fears spinning in her mind, at her creation, the monstrous doll she had constructed. An idea started to form, as she thought and saw the doll moving forward, deep into the forest, away from the light. _It_ had been there. It had not been only Elliot and Marianna in the house; there had been a monster in the woods, waiting to hunt its first prey. The realization sunk Vivianna into a deep sense of guilt. She had made the monster; because of her creation, her little sister was now dead. As much as she had hoped to, she could not make her creation vanish, like a nightmare when one wakes up: it was as real as the air she breathed, as the fear she felt gripping her heart, as the sweat dripping down her back.

"They will release Elliot, won't they? They'll see that he's innocent," said Vivianna.

"Of course. They surely will," said Henrika.

Silence fell over the room. None of them were sure of that.

…

The verdict found Elliot guilty of the murder of Marianna Wilhelmina Frankenstein, and sentenced to the same destiny he had allegedly subjected his victim too. The electric chair was prepared for him, and he was allowed one visit before his execution.

He called for Vivianna. She wished he could refuse, but knew her friends would see her as callous if she did so; and besides, perhaps –just perhaps –she could try to change the authorities' minds. She knew of Elliot's innocence since she knew of her creation's guilt –and even though she felt unable to share the precise information with those in charge, perhaps, she could save Elliot.

She first talked to the detectives. She told them of the figure she had seen in the forest the night of the funeral, but, unable to give more details, they attributed it to a figment of her grieving imagination. Vivianna tried to insist. There was nothing else she could say –not to disclose the identity of her suspected killer, nor its origin, nor its possible motive to kill her sister. Vivianna only had the certainty that Elliot was innocent, and that she had seen a mysterious figure outside her window, in the dark, cast by shadows, unable to recognize or to track. The snowfall of the funeral night had erased all possible footprints the suspicious figure could have cast. For all the detectives knew, it could have been a ghost of Vivianna's past.

Accepting her attempts would be fruitless, Vivianna accepted to Elliot's last wish, to speak to her. She knew not what she could possibly say to him in such a situation, but even if she was not sure of her capacity to do so, she would try to console him and promise him, as best as she could, that she did not held him at all accountable for Marianna's death.

Elliot was waiting for her, sitting on a chair in a small jail in the opposite end of the hall that lead to the execution room. Another chair was left for her, facing the jail. Vivianna sat down, wishing she had brought Willard to keep her company, to comfort her; but then forced her to remember she was there to comfort Elliot. He had the face of a hopeless desperate: his usually neatly combed hair was messy, his eyes were marked by bags that spoke of a sleepless night, and his hands trembled, not only because of the cold of these stone walls. Elliot did not look at Vivianna straight away. He seemed to be somewhere far away, deep in his thoughts, perhaps wondering if, against his better judgement and his own memory, he had, somehow, without knowing so, committed the impossible crime.

"Elliot…" said Vivianna, unable to keep silent anymore. "I know you didn't do it."

He looked up at her. Vivianna tried her best to keep a serious face.

"What?"

"I know you did not commit the crime."

"You know who did?" he asked.

Vivianna kept silent. And Elliot, who knew her since she was barely more than a baby, opened his eyes widely. "You know. You know who did it."

Elliot smiled wide, as his eyes lit up and his whole being seemed to be brought back to life.

"I do not know who did it. I only know you are innocent," said Vivianna.

"No, you know. You do know."

"I don't."

"Please, please, tell the judges. Tell anyone. Tell someone, please, or they'll hang me… They all think me the culprit. You know I'm not a killer. Please, tell them…"

Vivianna looked down at her gloved hands. She couldn't say what she knew. She would be seen as mad, or worse, a dangerous criminal. She would be held accountable for her creation. She would have to pay the price for the damage caused. Vivianne kept her head low, and her lips quivered. Elliot's joy slowly faded.

"You'll tell them… Won't you? Please, Vivianna, you know I'm… I've served your family for so long, I'm basically a part of the family, too… Please, Vivianna, help me, you can't not help me, please, my life is at stake…"

"I do not know who did it. I will insist upon your innocent every chance I get… But I do not know who did it."

Elliot sunk on his chair in confusion. "Why can't you say it? What's stopping you?"

Vivianna stayed silent. She had made up her mind. Elliot would not understand. She had to keep quiet. Her life could be on the line. She stayed silent.

Elliot understood he would not get any more help from her. His face darkened into a frown, as he leaned forward towards her, pressing his forehead on the jail bars.

"Listen to me, Vivianna. Listen. I have cared for your family since I was a boy. I cooked for you, I cleaned for you, I watched over you as you slept, and took care of you while your parents were away. And when Mrs Frankenstein died, I –and I swear to you, only I –took care of things. Your father, as you must know well, was unable to do any type of work in the house. I had to manage your growing little sister, your own temper tantrums, your father's outbursts –and yet, despite it all, I managed. And then he died. And then you left," said Elliot, his voice trembling with fury. "Marianna was left alone. Did you ever think about that? How you left your little sister, barely a teenager yet, to deal with the absence of her parents and her older sister? Did you ever feel remorse, at leaving her as you did? With barely a word of encouragement, barely a goodbye? I consoled her, when she cried. I sang her to sleep, I told her stories, I tried my best to help and distract her and protect her… I dedicated my entire being to her. Matt helped, I won't say I did it absolutely all by myself, but… Matt was not always available. I was. I had to be."

Vivianna looked deep into Elliot's eyes. She saw nothing but complete disdain at her. It felt improper, she thought, for him to stare back like that. It felt wrong.

"Where were you, Vivianna, when your sister screamed for help?"

Vivianna stood up and walked away. Elliot pounded on the bars of his jail.

"Who killed her, Vivianna!? Who did it!?"

Vivianna walked at a brisker pace, shutting her eyes tight, as if she could stop his words this way.

"You know I'm innocent! You know! You know who's responsible!"

…

Elliot was executed that same day. A small funeral, even smaller than Marianna's, was held in his honor. Only Henrika, Matt, and Vivianna. They all sat in front of the only portrait of him, a grainy image cut out from an old Frankenstein family portrait. It depicted Elliot not too long after he started to work in the house: he must have been only ten or eleven years old. He was staring at the camera, serious, grave. Vivianna felt his eyes piercing through her, and his last words ringed in her ears.

"I can't believe this," muttered Matt. "I can't believe this…"

"The detectives are right, though," said Henrika. "He was the only one in the house, in the grounds, anywhere near her. There are no other suspects. And he had the locket on him… I don't know. I wish I could say that Elliot was innocent, but… If he wasn't…"

"Don't you dare say that," snapped Matt. "You know he… He wouldn't…"

"I know, but –you know, I didn't know him as well as you and Vivianna did. Perhaps he thought there was something to gain, with—"

Matt stood up and stormed off the small white room. As he slammed the door, the small portrait trembled and fell. Henrika stood up and put it neatly back on the table. Vivianna, still unable to speak, kept her eyes occupied with her hands.

"I'm sorry," said Henrika. "I didn't mean to speak of Elliot this way, Viv…"

Vivianna said nothing. Henrika sat next to her, and took her hand.

"But if it wasn't him… The true killer is out there. I think that's even more scary a thought. Who knows who will be his next victim…?"

Vivianna took a short breath, trying to stay quiet. She could not possibly tell Henrika, as much as she wished to take the weight of the guilt off her. Henrika would be furious. She would be terrified. She would hate her, and never want to be her friend again. During those few months Vivianna realized how important Henrika was to her, how she wouldn't have been able to go on without her help. She couldn't let Henrika slip away again.

"I… I sort of wish Elliot was the killer," muttered Henrika.

Vivianna turned to her in surprise. Henrika bit her lips, ashamed.

"I'm sorry… I didn't want Matt to hear me say so. But if Elliot was the killer, and now he is dead… Then I think justice was made. If he killed poor, sweet Marianna… He got what he deserved."

Henrika sighed, and covered her eyes with her hand.

"My gosh… Imagine if he had been planning her death. If he had been waiting for her to wander off the woods, to be somewhere he wouldn't leave any evidence…"

"He wouldn't," said Vivianna. "Elliot didn't do it."

"I think… I think he did. Who else, then?" said Henrika. "One can never know who's a killer and who's not. You trust someone for so long, you end up with such an affection for them… And then they reveal their true selves."

Vivianna began trembling. Henrika sighed once more, and embraced her friend lovingly.

…

Vivianna did not return to Henrika's cabin. She decided to stay in the empty house for a while, with the excuse to settle a few legal matters. Henrika understood, of course. She told Vivianna that, whatever happened, she would be there for her, and that if the aching of solitude started to gnaw at her, she would always answer her call. They kissed one last time, they embraced for as long as they could, shed a few tears and parted ways. Vivianna watched her leave through the pathway to the house, as she disappeared in the snowy landscape.

But Vivianna would not be occupied with legal matters. As soon as Henrika left, she packed her bags once more, adapted an old coat that used to belong to her mother, prepared food for several days of hiking, knitted Willard a small red coat with which he would never be cold or lost in the woods, and, wrapping her pink silk scarf on her neck and buttoning her grey fur and leather winter coat, left the house again and went into the woods.

Birds barely sung in the now bare branches of the dark-barked trees. The only sound was that of Willard's shivers, Vivianna's heavy breathing and her steps on the snow. The wind sometimes blew her way, but her handmade coat was strong enough to protect her from the worst conditions. She walked for several days, trying to identify footprints in the snow that didn't belong to her, tracking the creature that, as she wandered deeper into the forest, should have been taken care of by the deadly freezing cold of the night. Soon food became scarce, and Vivianna, who had expected to find her target quite a few days sooner, started to panic, wondering how she would survive, whether she should try to return home or go on with her mission, going further into the woods, getting more lost but perhaps closer to exacting her revenge.

After almost a month of hiking, Vivianna began to think her mission was going nowhere. Willard, despite practically living in the inside pocket of her coat, had become ill and she feared he had not much long to live if she continued down her path. She held him closer to her heart, hoping to give him the heat he needed, taking deep breaths and trying to keep her temperature stable. The cold had started to get to her, at last.

One morning she rested next to the large roots of a tall, majestic tree, where she would be sheltered from the snowfalls. There, she resolved, Vivianna had to make her decision. While she was thinking, surrounded by the blinding white of the freshly fallen snow, Vivianna suddenly heard footsteps approaching. She stood up, startled, brandishing her father's paperknife. Willard fell off her pocket and sank headfirst into the snow; Vivianna didn't notice, panicked as she was, expecting to see that which she had been so desperately hunting. She turned and jerked her head, glancing at the trees, trying to distinguish any sort of shape hiding behind one of them.

The figure wasn't hiding. When it decided to make itself visible, it approached Vivianna with confidence, walking through the snow with no difficulty whatsoever. Vivianna gasped. The creature looked just as she had left it: the only visible difference was that it was wearing a thick black wool blanket as a makeshift dress, tied with a rope around its tiny waist. Apart from that, the full white light of the midday sun and its reflection on the snow shining on the creature exposed all its disturbing features, at least those which were uncovered. The mismatched, thin fingers with long broken nails, the bare feet, impossibly small and almost certainly completely plastic, and the head –goodness' sake, the head –with its long, stringy blond strands, shaken and messed by the winds; the full lips, which slowly parted to reveal pearly white milk teeth and a terrible red mouth; the thin nose, cracked at the bridge, and the little nostrils opening and closing desperately; and the huge, unsettling, ice-blue eyes, surrounded by many thick, black, irregular lashes. Displayed in its full glory, it was a terrifying sight, an uncanny representation of the human body, deformed in such a way that it seemed more like a child's attempt of drawing a person.

"You killed my sister," muttered Vivianna, still not completely over her dread. "You killed her, you monster…"

"I did," the creature said simply. "I found her in the woods, and it was an opportunity I didn't want to pass on."

Vivianna's eyes, after all that time, finally began to water with tears. "She was a child! How could you? What could you possibly gain from such an awful crime?"

The monstrous doll just stared at Vivianna. It leaned forward, to see her better. Vivianna saw herself reflected on the creature's glassy eyes.

"You look different from when I first saw you –you, the first thing I saw. You looked neater, then. You looked pristine. Now you are still as beautiful as then, but now, you seem to be a wilder, more desperate thing."

Vivianna kept her mouth shut. The doll smiled with puckered lips.

"I am glad. I wanted you to become desperate," said the creature. "I wanted you to look for me. And finally you've found me."

"And I am glad I did," said Vivianna, and with that she jumped toward the doll and, remembering where her flesh parts and her plastic parts were, stabbed her right on the upper chest, just under the collarbone, where she knew there was a soft spot. The paperknife sank into the thick blanket and into the doll's skin, but it didn't move any further. Vivianna moved back. The doll looked down and pulled the paperknife out. It had barely left a mark on the creature.

"It was not a smart move of you," it said. "Now I have your knife."

Vivianna closed her fists, but knew she would not be able to run fast enough, or to successfully fight to get her knife back. She sat on the snow, knowing herself to be the creature's prisoner. No matter, Vivianna thought. There had to be another way.

"I know you want to kill me for what I have done," it said, cutting a hole in her wool blanket and dangling the paperknife in it. "But I'd rather you listened to me. I have many things to tell you, if you'd lend me your ear."

Vivianna quickly took a hand to her ear and covered it. "I won't do nothing for you. You're the most despicable thing I have ever had to witness, and I won't believe anything you try to tell me."

"I have done some awful things, I admit, but I do not lie. I make my best to never lie. I believe it is no use to deceive with words, when with the truth alone you can still obscure your intent, and make people bend to your will."

Vivianna frowned. The creature made an effort to sit in front of her.

"See? I look at you, eye to eye. As equals. Can you please indulge me, and listen to what I want to tell you?"

Vivianna gulped. "I don't have much option, now, do I?"

"You have all the options. What you fear are the consequences. If you fear them enough, you feel trapped."

"I do feel trapped," muttered Vivianna.

"That is what I wanted. May I begin?"

…

"I woke up in the dark, and the only thing I managed to see was the golden light of a fire that you held in your hand, you, my creator, my mother, perfectly dressed in white and blue and pink, barely stained by the birth. By the light of the fire I saw your face, how perfectly symmetrical it was, how fair your features were, how soft and lovely it seemed, how pleasant it felt to see it. But your features were altered soon by the expression of profound pain, of the deepest fear and loathing. It scared me, that such beauty could become so terrible. I tried to sit, to see more, to move, and when I failed at this you retreated into the shadows, and the light in your hand trembled so that I feared I would go back to the darkness of the void. I tried to talk, to say anything, for you to respond to, but I still didn't have the words. And at the sound I managed to produce, you dropped the light, and you ran away. I was left alone once more, in the dark, with one small golden light. I managed to move myself to it, and to pick it up. It was warm, and it made me immensely happy. I tried to touch it, and it burned me, and it gave me a pang of pain. I was happy too, then, to discover such a feeling. I was able to feel, I thought, though not with those words. I was not a still thing, not anymore. I was a being. I was someone.

I got out of the room where you had left me. Outside, there was a bit more light. It was not so cold anymore. I was happy, then, too. I took the fire with me, my new favorite pet, as I tried to walk though halls that seemed like that of a labyrinth. Slowly, I got the hang of it, of moving my legs, of stepping, of balancing my weight and moving ahead. I approached a door. Someone saw me, and let out a painful scream. My ears hurt, but this time I did not feel happy. I just knew that, just as you in your horror, I had to run. And so I run, I left the building, I went out into the blinding light of the morning and discovered a whole sprawling world in front of me, filled with sounds, smells, textures, light and color. I was overwhelmed. I heard more screams, and I kept running. I tried very hard not to drop the fire. I only stopped when I reached a place full of trees, when the sun was already setting, where there was no one else. The light had gone out, after all the time I ran. I cried for it, because it was the first thing that was mine, and I had lost it. Then night fell, and there were no lights nearby; my little fire finally died, and I was left, once more, in the dark. I managed to curl up against a tree, where at least I could feel some support by my side, however rough it was. I spent that first night alone, crying. The tears slipped into my nose, my mouth, and I felt I would drown.

I didn't. Next morning, I was awaken by the early sunbeams, as the sky turned all sorts of beautiful colors. I was delighted. Its changing colors and warm hues reminded me of your face, and as it stabilized itself into a bright blue, I thought of your eyes, and wondered what more beauty awaited for me to discover, in this painful, astonishing world.

You see, despite being found terrifying and having to escape the company of other beings, I still felt a strong love of life. I knew that I had much to learn, and I thought that the reason others reacted in such a way to me was because I was seen as ill-equipped. If I only could learn how to be like others, I would be accepted. That idea kept me going. I managed to rip the white pieces of cloth off me, and find clothes thrown on the ground, apparently with no owner, for me to cover myself with. But you see, none fit. As I found more pieces of clothes, inside boxes alongside pieces of broken things and half eaten food, all things with no owner, I grew more desperate. All people wore clothes. Why couldn't I? Why did none of them fit me? I felt terrible. And so, one day I found a fountain, decorated with stone copies of plump babies and seashells and other things I thought pleasant to look at. I dipped my hand in the water when I realized it felt nice to do so, and tasted it and found it fresh and good to the tongue, but also saw, in the trembling waters near the edge of the fountain, my own reflection. It was then that I understood. I was not like the others. I was special, in an appalling way. I did not look like anyone else, and that, not my lack of knowledge, that horrified people. Putting clothes on wouldn't change things. I ran again, when I heard doors creaking and opening, the chatter and conversation, footsteps approaching. I learned to run from such noises. That is what people produce, these sounds of being busy, working, interacting, laughing, flirting, crying, things I could not do with anyone else. I learned to properly avoid people. I found pieces of fabric I could use to cover myself, not for the comfort of others but for my own; as pleasant as it was to have my skin touched by sun and rain, after seeing other people I simply felt I could not leave myself exposed. And, besides, nights could get cold. I found I did not like the cold, and so I decided to cover myself. Realizing that coverage meant that I became less visible, it also brought the promise of being able to infiltrate the towns and pass unnoticed. I had once thought this useful to learn, as like in my original plan, to be a person, like everyone else. But by then I thought it was a blessing to pass unnoticed, since while I did like the woods and the fields and the peaceful solitude they gave me, I also had no means to make fire, to warm myself properly, and I saw no lights besides that of the blinding sun or the faraway stars. I wanted to touch the light again, and I wanted to listen to the strange, wonderful sounds of people talking. I loved seeing people, going about their days and routines, like the ants and bees I carefully observed during my days in the wild. I began to frequent these spaces, public squares and parks, where I had my share of nature and shelter –and yet was still able to observe gorgeously dressed ladies, sharply dressed men, adorable children and all sorts of curious little animals that they treated like decorations and dear possessions, like me and my little firelight. I heard their talking and slowly discovered the meaning of some of their words and expressions and, in the cover of night, I repeated these sounds until I managed to pronounce them just as I had heard them. I saw a lady sing, once, in a park with flowers in full bloom; that night, by myself, I tried to sing. I found out I was good at it, and practiced every time I could, and singing became my favorite thing to do. Sometimes I even thought that perhaps I should try to become a bird, not a person. But singing calls attention, and I only could do so quietly, where nobody could hear me. I often wished I could sing to someone, like that lady did, and make someone else happy, like that lady made me.

Excuse me. I'm getting off track.

I truly learnt to talk when I found myself in the countryside, and I came upon a small rural school. The windows were large and I soon discovered the perfect spot where to make myself comfortable and, keeping a close ear to the glass, observe the classes as another student. The young children there learnt things like counting, reading, and writing. When I found a piece of chalk outside, besides the hopscotch, it was like I was given a precious gift from above. I practiced my handwriting, learnt to apply the perfect amount of pressure, and how my wrist had to move to spell the letters so fundamental in the creation of words. I was mesmerized by my capacity to learn. I improved quite faster than the rest of the children, and so I had to move and find other places to witness, in seclusion and secrecy, the classes of other students. I learnt to read, too, and I also learnt to pick the locks of the school so as to steal books. I read everything I could get my hands on. Many fairy tales, since these were the easiest; but later I read longer books, novels, they called them, with the older children. I learnt many things from these books, even more than from the classes themselves: I learnt how the world worked, how people truly interacted, how people thought. I learnt people were not truly as nice and as pleasant as they acted; that dark and cruel thoughts could occupy their minds, and that life has heroes and villains. I watched the children interact and unraveled the narratives going on inside the classroom: I properly identified the heroes, those children with friends and who were seen as the kindest and most helpful ones; and the villains, the children who had few or no friends, behaved aggressively towards others, and acted out during class. This, to my surprise, did not mean that the roles were completely fixated. As time went on, I saw children switch sides, leave their friends in favor of others, restructuring the whole social system. I was marveled by their complexity. During the night I pictured myself acting the roles of the children, performing their characters in their social situations, taking decisions and imagining the outcomes. It was a bitter reminder though, as morning approached, that it was all just pretend. I had taught myself, first of all, to disguise and hide. I would never interact with others, and this, along with the pain of the loneliness that I got, so often, as I empathized with the friendless children, led me to cry myself to sleep. I repeated to myself, like a prayer, some of the phrases I had heard the villain children yell at others in the recess: that I would never have friends; I would never be loved; everyone would always despise me. I would never be truly happy.

There was a child, I noticed, who was not one of those I could categorize as either heroes or villains. It was a young boy, who played all by himself. He barely talked to the others, seemed to have no friends, but neither did he seem to behave badly towards others. He became a mystery to me. I watched him, trying to understand him, why he seemed to be alright with being alone.

One afternoon, while the children were in recess and I read my borrowed books, hidden by a shadow on the southern wall of the school, behind the big boxes of garbage, I heard a small ball rolling on the floor. It was a marble, so it was called by the teacher, I think. The young lonely boy came to pick it up, and somehow, despite the shadows, he saw me.

"Who are you?" he asked me, still by the light, not daring to get closer yet.

I kept quiet. I realized, for the first time, my lack of a name.

"I'm Ryan. Well, that's my surname. But I don't think we know each other enough to be on first-name basis," said the boy, cradling the marble in his cupped hand.

I said nothing to this. I was barely aware of what a surname was.

"Can you speak?" he insisted.

I huffed. The child would not leave me be.

"Yes, I can," I said in my hoarse voice, knowing that it would unsettle him, just as it did unsettle you. But he wasn't. Ryan walked nearer, and I heard the sound of more marbles tinkling in his pocket. "And I don't think you should talk to me."

"Why not?" he asked.

"You wouldn't like me," I answered.

"Why wouldn't I? You're not mean," he said, and he came a little too close. I moved back, and he stopped walking. "I think you seem a little afraid, that's all."

"Why are you alone?" I finally asked him. I wanted to know the truth –how it came that a completely normal boy was so withdrawn from the rest, for no apparent reason.

"I don't know," said Ryan. "Why are you alone?"

I blinked. I think that is when he saw my eyes, my features, and I noticed the surprise in his expression.

"You better leave, now. I told you you wouldn't like me," I said, turning my back to him.

"I'm ambivalent toward you."

"Ambivalent?"

"I neither like nor dislike you," he said. "My mother taught me that word."

I closed my eyes. I wondered who my mother was. I thought of you, but you never taught me any words, nothing besides how to run.

"You are not a student, are you?" he asked me. "Or are you a teacher?"

"I think I'm a student, but not like you are."

"I've never seen you in the school."

"I never am."

"So then why are you here?"

"I'm here to learn."

Ryan cocked his head, confused. "Then come inside. Why be outside when you could be learning inside? It gets cold outside sometimes, and sometimes it also rains. Why aren't you inside?"

"Why are you alone?" I insisted.

Ryan sighed. "The other children don't play what I play, they don't like what I like, and they don't think like I do."

I didn't understand. The children played many different games. What was it about marbles that repulsed them?

"You shouldn't be alone," I said, repeating something I had heard a teacher tell him once. "You are too young to be alone."

"I prefer it that way. I don't want to behave differently, to pretend to like other things, just to comply with what the others want to do," said Ryan. "I want to do what I want to do."

I thought about this thing he said. I still think often about it.

"That's alright, I guess," I said. "You should do what makes you happy. Even if other people say that isn't right."

Ryan smiled. "I think I like you."

I laughed. It was the first time I did so, and I think I didn't do it too well, judging by Ryan's expression, but then he laughed too.

"I like you too, I think. But I don't think you should be here with me," I said. "I wish we could, but I think we cannot be friends."

"Why? Are you a criminal?" he asked me.

"No…" I started answering, but wondered whether that was true. People ran away from me. I had to live in hiding, taking things to survive –things without owner, but I didn't own them, either. Was I a thief? Was I a runaway? I did behave exactly like criminals did.

"Then why are you hiding here?" he asked. "Why won't you come to the light?"

I was about to answer –I don't remember what, precisely –but just then, a teacher appeared walking towards Ryan.

"What are you doing here? What have you found?" she asked him; then she looked at what he was looking, and noticed me. She gasped and immediately grabbed Ryan's arm, pulling him behind her. "Who are you?" she asked me, less kindly than how Ryan had asked me. "What are you doing here?"

"I mean no harm," I said, just as a criminal would.

"Are you lost? Are you homeless?" she continued asking. "You can't talk to our students like that –you can't be alone with them –what were you two talking about?"

"We weren't doing anything wrong…" Ryan said.

I tried to move and get away from the situation; but somehow, as I stood up, the teacher got a better look at me –she gasped in horror, as everyone does –and cried out.

"Help! Someone help! There's an intruder in the school!" she shouted.

That was my cue to begin running. I did not let the book go, though. I was a thief, after all, I thought.

Unfortunately for me, there were more than one teacher: they soon circled me, ran towards me and tried to grab me, pulling my blanket covering, pushing me around, until I finally had enough and pushed back. I became aware of the strength I had, enough to shove away several people. I think it was around that moment when my face became completely exposed. I took advantage of their surprise and disgust to finally make my escape, and, fortunately, they did not continue chasing me.

When I believed I was safe and away from anyone, I stopped to rest. It was already beginning to get dark. I sat down, with the book still in my grip. I was sad once more, with my eyes filling with tears; but also there was something more, a strong feeling born in my gut and rising through my throat in a muffled scream. I didn't want to steal the book; I didn't want to bother these teachers. That hadn't changed a thing. I was despised and punished for things I had only done out of necessity. It had been by no true fault of my own. It had all been terribly unfair.

I wondered then if I was a hero or a villain, at that moment. People did not like me, that was a certainty. I had shoved them and stolen a book. I had been nice to a boy, but it didn't seem like anyone but he had noticed. Only loneliness was unconditionally kind to me, but I had felt the sweetness of company, even if for a few precious moments. I craved more of it, and my desperation to be normal, to be lovable, to be made happy by others and make others happy as well became so strong, that in my impotence I let out a long, furious, anguished cry. I covered my face with my hands, and pressed my eyelids, my lips, my cheeks, wishing to remake myself, redo the mess you have created. I considered taking my own life.

But I was not a murderer, I told myself, at least not yet. I felt the powerful need for destruction, but I dared not act on my impulse. I wished to exact revenge on those who hurt me; ideas of arson crossed my mind, but again, I became afraid of my own thoughts, and forced them to be quiet. Instead, I made an effort to try to come up with some sort of plan to gain, once more, that so-desired moment of friendship. By the time the sun had completely set and the moon was shining above my head, I had come up with nothing.

Against my better judgements, I continued walking and returned to the towns and the settlements. I continued observing the behavior of the people, giving me hope that someday, perhaps, if I could manage to imitate them well enough, I could integrate myself into their society. I peeled my eyes open, from my hiding places, and dedicated all my waking hours to attentive watching. I reread my book over and over, I read it out loud, and I sang when I could, when I knew I would not be bothered; I made my best to train my voice into the sweetest sound I could manage to create. I watched the women, especially, the group to which, based on my brief moment of self-observation, I guessed I should belong to. Just as the teachers were older than the children, there were more, even older people –those with their skin scratched by wrinkles, hoarse voices, and difficulty of movement. These people, even in their lack of beauty, were loved and respected by others; despite their physical differences they were still a part of these societies, they were allowed inside the homes, they were cared for. This time, I spent some time observing a family of three –an older woman, a woman who seemed around the age of the teacher who had screamed at me, and a young girl, around the age of the school students. There was a curious beauty to their bond: the young girl depended on the mother for most activities, yet the mother depended on the older woman; and the older woman, that who rarely if ever left the house, depended on the young girl as a source of comfort and company. I witnessed kindness and familial love as I had never done, except in the stories and books I had read. I watched, from my hiding spot, the goodnight kisses the mother bestowed on her child's forehead, and the embraces the child gave to her grandmother, and I teared up, wondering what they felt like, how sweet it should be, by the delighted expressions of their recipients. I dreamt and fantasized that they adopted me, and that they loved me and I loved them. They would cook me meals, hot meals that steamed and smelled heavenly and were presented in beautiful pieces of pottery and china; I would sleep in one of their beds, surrounded by pillows and thick blankets; they would sing to me, and I would sing to them, and I would read to the child just like the mother did, and I would embrace the grandmother just like the child did, and I would advise the mother just like the grandmother did. The perfect circle of loving mesmerized me. Sleepless nights were spent deep in thought, wondering where my family was.

You were the one who forgot to give me that, Frankenstein. It is because of you that I lack a family, just as it is because of you that I exist in such a pitiful way.

Hoping to get a second chance at acceptance, one dark night I entered the house and approached the old woman, who was knitting something, surely for her beloved granddaughter. She heard my footsteps; she asked me whether I was her daughter. I said no. She asked then if I was a thief. I said yes. I heard her swallow with difficulty, and she said that alright then, and said that she would not make a noise if I promised to spare her. I told her I meant no harm. So far, so good, yet I felt I was repeating the same things I had done before. I thought that, when the mother and the daughter came back home, I would be once again pushed and yelled at, and so I hurried to make my time with the old woman as useful as possible.

"I have been a thief, but I am not here to take anything away from you," I said. "Nothing except a few minutes of your time. You see, I'd hoped I may perhaps be able to have you as a conversation partner."

"Oh," sighed the woman, gratefully. "Oh, then what a relief. It's alright. I know what it feels like, to want to talk and having no one around."

"You do?"

"Oh, yes. I haven't lived my whole life here, you know. I've lived with my husband for several years; after his passing, I was not able to keep paying the rent of our house. And so, I came here. But I did spend some few years, in that old house, trying to make ends meet."

"Trying to make ends meet," I repeated. That expression seemed familiar.

"What about you, miss? Or are you a misses?"

"Excuse me?" I asked, trying my best not to sound too confused. "I'm afraid I do not understand."

"I mean, are you married, my dear?"

I thought about it. The answer was simple, a brief 'no', yet it hadn't crossed my mind that this gentle old woman must have surely have been married once, in order to produce her daughter; and that her daughter, the mother of the child, must have surely been married once, too; and so, the child one day would go on to marry someone else. I looked at the walls: the small framed pictures of unknown men now made sense.

"Did you love your husband?" I asked her.

"Yes, I did," she smiled. "He was a darling. I miss him very much, but I'm blessed to still have my family for me to look after and for them to look after me."

"And does your daughter have a husband?" I asked. Outside the window, the one which I used to spy on these kind folk, the sky had begun to darken. I didn't have much time left. "If she does, does she love him?"

The old woman frowned. "How did you know I have a daughter?"

I kept quiet and still. The old woman sighed, but in the end she answered my question: "She did love him, but I knew from the beginning that would not be enough. He was a cruel man, you see. The worst type of cruelty, the one that appears as sweetness at first. But I have had my fair share of experiences, and I can smell a cruel man a mile away. My daughter didn't heed me, of course. She married him, and had a lovely child together. And, just as I predicted, he revealed himself not too long after the honeymoon. He yelled, he threatened, he hurt… And now he's left this family for good," she said. I did not understand if this was meant as in the cruel man had died, or that he had literally left the family and was living somewhere new. I hoped, at the mere thought of a cruel man hurting the kind, sweet granddaughter of my hostess, that it had been the first. "It's harder now, in a sense. We have to make do with what we can. We still live hand to mouth. But at least the child can go to school, and my daughter has a stable job. I do what I can around the house to help with the chores, yet you see, my legs and my eyes are not what they used to be."

"Can you see me?"

The old woman turned around to me and squinted. "Oh, barely so. I can see you have many scars," she said softly. "I hope they do not give you much pain anymore."

"I am in pain," I said. "But it used to be worse."

The old woman smiled. "And hopefully it will be better. All wounds eventually close. And you are a courageous one, albeit a bit cheeky, I must say. I do not know how old you are, but I think no one, regardless of age, should walk into a stranger's house uninvited."

"I am sorry," I said. Footsteps were approaching the door. "But I was truly desperate for some conversation."

"I understand. Do not apologize. Manners can always be learnt."

"I had nobody to teach me manners," I said quickly. "I have nobody."

The door creaked. As I saw the old woman furrow her brow again, I reached out to her, and grabbed her hands. She let out a brief surprised gasp. "I am sorry –my dear woman –but please –you, who have had a fair share of experiences –please tell me –in these few moments of pleasant talk –could you please –tell me, please –do you believe I can be lov—?"

The door opened. The woman and the child were there, standing still, watching me, and I still had the hands of the old woman in my hands. The child opened her eyes very wide, then her mouth, and then she brought her own hands to her face and let out a piercing scream.

"Mother!"

The woman grabbed a nearby broom and beat me with it. Dust fell upon me, and I still didn't let go of the old woman's hands.

"Please –miss –do help me –I have done nothing—!" I cried.

The old woman, shocked and confused, said nothing. I squeezed her hands tighter, but she suddenly pulled them out of my grasp, and, in my distraction, the woman succeeded at hitting me hard with the broomstick on my head. I felt a short pang of pain. There was a cracking sound, and then I saw the pieces of the broken broomstick on the floor, and heard the heavy breathing of the scared woman. I stood up, then. I looked at the woman in the eye. She covered her mouth, just like her daughter, stifling a scream. I looked back at the old woman. She was perfectly still, quiet, as if she were a statue in the middle of the room. There was no use.

The woman, then, grabbed another thing –a long piece of metal, which I did not have the time to identify properly. This one was harder –the pangs were stronger –and finally she managed to push me away from the house. I ran away, unsurprisingly. I insulted myself. Why did I think this time would be any different? What reason would the old woman have to defend me, a stranger, from the judgement of her family?

As I cried, my eyes burning inside their sockets, my thoughts wandered away from the small village, from the house and the three women. You came back into my mind. You, as the only mother I could speak of having. If someone in this world could ever love me, I assumed, that should be you. As the bird takes care of its chicks, and the cat feeds her litter, a mother would be where I would surely find something akin to pity and compassion. I wondered where my father was, and whether he was also a cruel man for having left me.

Luckily for me, I pride myself in having an excellent memory. I knew the places I had been through, despite the anguish that had conducted my steps. Taking care of being properly sheltered from the hateful eyes of the crows, I went back to the rural school, and from then, it was not very difficult to return to the place of my birth. I found the building, but you weren't there. I decided I wouldn't abandon my mission, and kept looking for you. I even tried to ask people of your whereabouts –of course, properly covered and disguised –and yet I still was seen with scorn and, more than once, identified as a monster and then beaten into the ground. Slowly, day by day, I became angrier –in my pain I found the fuel to go on with my search, less a desperate desire for sympathy and more a furious determination to have answers. Your face hardly ever left my memory, and I looked for it in every person I came across. The shining beauty of your visage became poisoned as time passed. It became a mockery, a treasure I would never inherit. The last few weeks, despite my weariness and my misery, I walked faster, heavier, as the first snow fell, and the conditions of the climate became even more ruthless.

I stopped to rest briefly in a forest I had not been in before. It reminded me of that one in which I had also made a stop after my birth, but the trees were different, the air smelled different. This place seemed familiar yet strange, as a half-remembered dream…

It was then when I saw the child. A young girl, taller than the granddaughter but with a youthful face, that in its fair beauty reminded me strikingly of you. This girl was sitting beside a large tree, with a book in her hands, a magnifying glass on her lap and two glass containers, which held large insects whose names escaped me. The girl watched her bugs with profound interest. She wrote notes on the book, and later took out a piece of paper and began sketching one of these bugs. I watched her in silence, mesmerized by her artistic talent. I knew insects –during these weeks I had barely anything else at my disposal for nourishment –but I had never dared to see them as a thing of beauty. By her skilled hand, these strange creatures became objects of fascination and perfect proportions. I wondered, foolishly, if perhaps this girl –this time –it would be different.

I approached her quietly, yet making sure my footsteps would be heard –so as not to startle her. It took a few seconds, but she finally raised her eyes from her bugs and pages and set them on me. I stopped and allowed her to examine me. The woolen blanket still covered me, but I had exposed my head so as to be as upfront about my appearance as possible. She did take her time to gaze at me, but then, to my surprise, she returned her attention to her work.

"You're lost, if you're searching the town," she said as she closed one of the books. "And besides, what's worse, you're in private property."

"Private…?"

"This is part of my family's grounds. There –you see?" And she pointed with her pencil to the blue gables of a large house in the distance, peeking from up the top of the bare trees. "That's my family's home, and these are our woods."

"Oh."

"But don't worry; we don't do anything to trespassers. My mother always said that nature should be to everyone's disposal."

So the child had a mother. The past tense in 'said' made me wonder whether her mother was still around.

"What are you doing?" I asked her. So far, the child had not screamed or ran away in horror. I believed things were working out well.

"I draw them –I draw them all the time, and I also capture some, and if they're rare and pretty, I pin them to a piece of cardboard, write their name in Latin and hung them by the walls of my house."

"Oh. You're very talented."

"Thank you. People often say that, but I don't think they think very highly of my hobby. And being talented at something people don't think highly of isn't much to write home about," she sighed, and put her papers away in a leather bag. As she leaned into the bag, a small golden twinkle caught my eye. A necklace dangled from her neck, with a piece of gold so shiny and beautiful that it somehow made the child's beauty seem even brighter, even more unattainable. "My father did not like it very much, but at least he humored me. Now, I think even I have started to stop liking it."

"Your hobby?"

"It has become a bore," she said, as she glanced at me. It marveled me, how she didn't seem afraid at all. And then she smiled, and I thought, if I only had a fraction of the beauty this child has, then I wouldn't have a care in the world. Things would have been very different, then. "Have you come to visit my parents?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Well, if you should like to, the house is always open. I've been starving for company, lately. And if you feel especially hungry, we always have tea at five. You can come over, if you'd like."

"Are your parents alright with you inviting people over to tea?"

The girl lowered her eyes. "Both my parents are dead, now," she said in a grave voice.

"I am very sorry."

"It's alright. I still have my sister," she smiled rather bitterly. "Even if she's barely there at all. And I have a servant, Elliot, who's very kind to me. And friends, the best one could ever wish for, and yet… They're not always around. And loneliness has a way to seep through everyday actions, and to dampen every moment of solitude into a deep melancholic blue."

Even her voice was angelic. She noticed me glancing again at the shiny necklace, so she scooted closer to me and made a gesture for me to get closer. I recognized it from seeing it done by others, but nobody had done the gesture to me. I immediately kneeled beside her.

"This was my mother," she said, opening the necklace to reveal the small picture of the most beautiful creature I had laid eyes upon. No wonder she was the child's mother. And again, she reminded me of you, in a way I explained as being the reason all beautiful people looked alike. "I barely remember her, but I do remember some things –she used to read me fairytales, and sing me lullabies, and stroke my hair as I fell asleep."

"That sounds beautiful," I said, close to tears.

She smiled again, and slipped the necklace under the collar of her blouse.

"What is your name?" the girl asked me, the question I dreaded to answer.

"I don't have one," I replied in shame. "At least not yet."

"What? Why is that? Have you no parents, nobody to name you?"

I kept quiet. I kept thinking of the beautiful woman trapped in the golden necklace, of how blesses I would have been to have her as a mother.

"Who are you?"

I looked back into her blue eyes. She did remind me a lot of you, I thought.

"Never mind that," I said, trying to smile. She did not. "What is your name?"

"… Marianna. Marianna Frankenstein."

The surname made everything click into place. Of course, I thought. And then, so, you must be in the house, I deduced. I had reached to my destination –I had come home. And, even better, I would ingratiate myself to you through your little sister; you would surely listen to her and she would speak nice words of me, she, Marianna, who held no grudge against me and who did not see me as a monster.

"I'd like to have tea with you, Marianna," I said, unable to hide my joy.

Marianna frowned. This was never a good sign. "Are you here to see my sister?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am."

"Do you know her? Do you know what she's doing, that takes up so much of her time?"

"I do not know her, but I have seen her, and I am connected to her," I said, unsure of how to word the strange relationship that binds us together, "I need to see her again."

Marianna's face was still furrowed with doubt. I began to panic. "She isn't home yet. She's to come for the holidays, but she won't be home –surely for another month or so."

"It's alright," I hurried to say, standing up, towering over her. "I can wait."

"What do you want with her?" she asked, holding onto her bag.

"I need to talk to her –"

"What for?" she insisted.

"She's… she's very important to me. And I've come from afar just to see her."

Marianna didn't believe me. I could see it clearly in her grimace.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know you. I don't think you should wait with me for her. I think you should desist, and try not to think about her anymore. My sister isn't a very… faithful person," she said, unsure of her choice of words. "With this I mean, she is as changing as the moon."

"No matter, I will wait."

"What do you want with her?" she insisted once more, and my patience was wearing thin.

"It is none of your business, child," I said. I raised my eyes to the roof of your house, imagining its great halls, the large window and the sunlight streaming in, and the comfortable, warm rooms that your parents have left behind. I pictured a large table set with plenty of hot food, and a cozy hearth where to forget ever feeling cold. This was your home, and so, it was mine too. "Now, please, take me to your house."

"No," she said. Her voice quivered, and for the first time during our encounter, I saw fear in her eyes. "I am sorry, but I cannot."

Marianna was afraid of me. Far from being disappointed, this awakened a volcano of rage inside me. People were truly changing, just like you, just as Marianna said of you. One moment friendly and understanding, the next doubtful and hostile. And it terrified me, to think that, being this close to you, to home, this child –and her childish fears –were everything keeping us apart. Marianna was no longer fair and beautiful: in her fear, the worry had shaped her features in a horrified gesture.

"You will take me there," I said firmly. "I have a right to talk to your sister –I need to do so. She owes me that."

"I won't. She won't. I will not –you –I cannot trust you," said Marianna, standing up, with her back to me, and starting to walk briskly.

I grabbed her bag by its straps. She turned around with her eyes wide open in fear. She reminded me of the granddaughter, and I immediately covered her mouth with my hand, expecting her inevitable scream.

"You will take me there," I repeated. "Or you're not going there at all."

Marianna stared at me with her piercing blue eyes. She was still, and tense, but it did not look like she would start screaming. I took my hand off her mouth. I took a deep breath.

Marianna began running for her life.

I ran behind her, pursuing her, just like when I hunted for prey when the trees did not give me their fruits. I grabbed her by her shoulders and, just as a shriek escaped her throat, I gripped her neck and stifled the scream in its infancy.

"Don't scream –don't you dare scream –don't you even dare…"

Marianna's eyes kept staring at me, as her whole body trembled –convulsed in jerking movements –and finally, as I gripped tighter to keep her still, she stopped moving at all. A few seconds passed. I opened my hand –and Marianna fell to the ground. Her eyes were still wide open, but there was no screams, no sound of breathing, no racing heartbeat. Marianna was dead –and I had killed her.

Fear washed over me –the thought of having taken the life of something as beautiful and pure as this child –but soon pride followed, and I grinned, glad to have taken revenge on you –on the child who was surely going to try and call other to her aid, to attack me. I had managed to defend myself, and in my new power I found strength and elation. I walked around the corpse of the child, admiring my work, how quickly it had all happened, how effective my hands had become for murder.

I had been a thief before I had become a killer, and I had no qualms when considering looting the body. The bag seemed practical, and yet my attention came, first and foremost, to the golden necklace and the enchanted image within it. I took the necklace from the girl's neck and, now afraid it would reveal me as the killer, I tried to hide it in the folds of my blanket.

Later, I found out that it had fell to the ground, not far from Marianna's body. A young man had picked it, one by the name of Elliot –the servant, I assumed. I carefully watched the events unfold –the consequences of my crime befalling onto the young man, and the subsequent grief and pain it brought you, and your close friends –those I would never have. And so I resolved –I knew I would not appeal to your sympathies with words; what good were they for me, when I tried to befriend others? What good were they when I was beaten, hurt, and insulted? My hands –these, these that you gifted me with –became my greatest aid. And with these hands, that you yourself sewed to my body, I would kill everyone you hold dear –I would not stop until you became as lonesome as I have, until you felt the sting of knowing everyone else has the fortune of having a loving family –while you do not.

But then I thought, there was no need to be so ghastly. I certainly want you to suffer –it was this desire that kept me going through these last few days of hiding and silent watching –yet I want even more to have a companion. If you spare me an eternity of loneliness, then I can spare you of the same fate. If you want to preserve your happy life, then you must ensure I can be happy, too.

Vivianna Frankenstein, I, your child, am alone and miserable. I have told you only some of the encounters that I have attempted to have with the rest of your people, those who consider themselves normal, the ones who are deserving of happiness. So, I do not expect these people to ever love me as I wish they did. You –only you –have the capacity, then, to create someone like me –someone I could love, and who could love me back.

"I don't want to kill you," said the doll. "You see, when one hunts, one has to try to kill the creature you've wounded as fast as possible, as to spare them the pain. With you, I don't want to spare the pain. You deserve it, through and through, and I will not stop until you feel it, until you live in it, until it becomes your new normal state, as it has become to me."


	2. Chapter 2

The monstrous doll finished speaking. Vivianna was left aghast. Night had fallen, and while Vivianna thought about what had been narrated to her, the creature walked around and gathered a few branches and twigs to build a small fire.

"I thought…" muttered Vivianna, never taking her eyes off the being. "I thought you would want to kill me."

"I don't want to kill you," said the doll. "You see, when one hunts, one has to try to kill the creature you've wounded as fast as possible, as to spare them the pain. With you, I don't want to spare the pain. You deserve it, through and through, and I will not stop until you feel it, until you live in it, until it becomes your new normal state, as it has become to me."

Vivianna shuddered. The doll took two stones out of her pocket, and pounded them against each other until a few red sparks flew out, and the fire was lit, and at least a bit of warmth was restored.

"Of course, as I told you, that shouldn't be necessary–"

"But –I don't understand –you want me to do what?"

"You have created me, now, haven't you?" snapped the creature, suddenly furious. "How difficult would it be for you to repeat it?"

"Well, I… I'd say, it's not easy at all. I need instruments, a private space, somewhere I could work in peace and— but still—"

Vivianna still hadn't fully understood what her creation meant with her demand.

"Only you can do this. And as your child, knowing your capabilities, I think I'm not wrong in arguing that this wish for companionship is a right you owe me."

"I owe you nothing," said Vivianna, gritting her teeth. "You killed my sister!"

"And I will kill again, and I won't hesitate," the creature said, making her best attempt at being patient. "I know that, if you could, you'd kill me instantly, and savor the revenge; you would not call it a murder, since I know you consider me less than human. You know I am capable of love; but if I cannot love, then I will hate with a fury you cannot imagine. I have noticed how my body was made resistant to most things others would find mortally painful; I can go much further without food, drink or shelter. And you know, better than anyone, that I would never give up. And you can stop this destruction from being born, if you only grant me a single wish."

Vivianna, against her better judgement, moved closer to the heat of the fire the creature had created, and the creature smiled a small, terrible grin.

"Am I not being reasonable?"

Vivianna thought she was. Despite herself, she found herself –what shock –sympathizing with her sister's killer. She wondered what she would have done, if it had been her in the creature's place. And, besides, if she could stop any more deaths by her creation's hand…

"But I know –we both know," argued Vivianna, who didn't want to be seen as less –as too consenting –as too easy to convince. "That what you crave is human companionship. You have tried so many times, and longed for it so long… What do you have to make me certain that you and this hypothetical mate I'd build you would be compatible? What if you end up despising each other?" And before the creature could reply, she continued: "And besides, even if you do end up satisfied with each other's affection, what can assure me that you both would not join forces and destroy more lives, and take revenge on humanity which shunned you?"

"Shunned me? It was you who did so!" cried the doll. "If you only had taken the time… If you had only shown me any sort of affection during those early moments of my existence… But it's too late for that, now. Take my request, and fulfill it; or do not, and suffer the consequences."

Vivianna thought that, either way, there was no certain outcome. The possibility of her creature, and a second being made by herself, of continuing the murder spree or (and Vivianna didn't know which was worse) both loathing each other and deciding to part ways, for each to wreak havoc on their own, truly scared her. And yet… Vivianna thought of the possibility of her friends being killed –as Marianna, and Elliot, had just been disposed of –and this gave her such a feeling of emptiness and despair that it was clear, in the end, that there was only one true option.

"I will make what you want of me," she said, avoiding the creature's large, glassy eyes. "Only if you promise to leave me and my friends alone; to never return, never to contact me again, never to try to communicate with me and to never, ever hurt another person, ever again."

The doll smiled even more widely, forcing her cheek muscles to pull, strain and wrinkle in a disturbing grimace. "I swear to you, Vivianna, my creator, my goddess, my pious mother!" she cried loudly, raising her long arms to the night sky. "If you grant me a companion, you will never see me again. You'll forget

"What do you want, then?" asked Vivianna bitterly. "Perhaps a little sister?"

"No, no; I have seen how families work, how loving works," said the doll. "I have seen young women, just as I should have been, flirting and enjoying the company of young men. I have seen weddings, those charming ceremonies in which love is celebrated above all. I have seen parents with their children, couples walking hand with hand, couples kissing, couples embracing. That, I believe, is what must be the natural way. In stories I have heard and read, woman and man are meant to be together; and so, what I require of you is an Adam to my Eve."

"So, a man then?"

"Yes. In seven days," declared the doll, almost beside herself with joy. "You will make me a man."

"Just a week?" cried Vivianna.

"If you fail to do so, you'll leave me no choice but to condemn you to the same life of solitude that you have given me," she continued hurriedly, clearly afraid that Vivianna would change her mind "I will dispose of everyone you love. I will have no mercy, and I will not stop until you feel the same despair I have felt since I have first seen the light—"

"Yes, yes, I know…" said Vivianna. "But I don't have where to work! I have no instruments! In such a short timespan I cannot create something as complex as you—"

"You must," insisted the doll. "If you take a single more day, I will think you are dallying your duty in order to hatch a plan to escape your responsibility. I have waited long enough; and seven days is plenty of time. Go back to your home, there you will find what you need; I will wait, and see you and your gift for me in a week."

Vivianna wanted to continue arguing, but understood it would be fruitless. The doll covered herself further with her black mantle, and walking away from the fire, she disappeared into the dark. Only then, by herself, in the middle of the snowy forest, as the small fire slowly died down, Vivianna came to terms with the pact she had signed, and the responsibility she had undertaken.

…

Vivianna returned to her house, as the dawn slowly crawled from behind the horizon. As she pictured the sweet faces of Henrika and Matt in her mind, worrying for their safety, she hurried back and swiftly ran to her late father's laboratory, where she had spent many afternoons spying on the doctor, full of contained curiosity, as a child. Everything was left just as it had been; and yet it was clear Elliot had been cleaning the equipment and tools, as it all had remained perfectly impeccable. And so, with a heavy heart and fed on desperation and anguish, Vivianna began her work once more. She returned to the graveyard and the slaughterhouse, the dumpsters and the morgues, to acquire –and sometimes purchase –the ingredients needed for her next creation. Having already made a living creature, Vivianna found that it truly had become easier –she no longer ever winced and gagged at the sight of guts and open bodies –and the attaching of limbs went through without a hitch.

Letters from Henrika and Matt kept coming and flooding her mailbox, but Vivianna could not be bothered, no matter how much she desired it, to stray from her restless toil. She worked day and night, barely eating, barely sleeping, only working and glancing at the house's clocks, calculating how long she had before the monster would show up on her doorstep, demanding something she could not mess up.

While looking for something that could be of use in her old notes and diary recordings, Vivianna found a letter –unopened –sent by Marianna, which contained another unopened letter, this one from her father, written before his demise and with Vivianna's name as the addressee. Slipping the bloodied gloves off her hands, Vivianna opened the letter and pulled out the yellowed paper. She read:

"_My dearest Vivianna; I hope you and your sister are in good health, while I continue on my business trip. I have been to many fascinating congresses and conferences, but I find I miss you two most of the time. I will soon come home and kiss both your lovely faces. However, the reason for this letter is most specific for you, Viv. As you know, your late mother had hoped for years that Matthew, our dear friend, would someday become your husband and you his wife. Unsatisfied with the possibility that you may have an unhappy marriage, she kindly took it unto herself to raise someone you could be fully capable of loving. However, her untimely death left us with the prospect of Matthew becoming more of a brother to you than a possible fiancé. I hope you know that was the reason you were separated, and why he was sent to be raised and schooled by a personal tutor. Luckily, the, albeit rather short, distance I had to establish between you two didn't hurt your relationship, and I am happy to see him often visiting us, playing with you just as you did when you were younger, and so I grew more hopeful of fulfilling your dear mother's wish. Matthew knows this, and what is expected of him; and I didn't want you to go on clueless for much longer. I think you'd be happy to know how much we wanted him to become an official part of the Frankenstein family. And I remember clearly your childhood fantasies of a grand wedding. You must rest assured, no expense will be spared in your ceremony…"_

Vivianna lowered the letter and took her trembling hand to her face, trying her best not to start sobbing. She had forgotten all about that plan her parents had arranged. Indeed, her childhood fantasies of marriage had soured so potently since she had obsessed over the defeat of death, that Matthew as her husband didn't even sound like a possibility. All she wanted, all she thought about, was to finish her work –satisfy her creature's demands –and later… Later, God knew what awaited for her on the other side of her second time fiddling with the power of creation.

As she continued her work, Vivianna promised herself she would spend the rest of her days, free from the monster, enjoying the company of her friends –more so than she could have done ever before, before knowing how easily that company could be lost. But her union to Matthew –who she had always knew was to be her betrothed someday, yet never could truly picture it beyond the marriage ceremony and her glorious, enormous white dress –seemed farther and farther as time marched on, and as time ran out.

By the early morning of the seventh day, the so-called Adam was finally assembled and completed. Staring down at him, plugging the wires inside his cold flesh, Vivianna realized with no small shock that, in her complete detachment of the task at hand, she had inadvertently modeled the male creature's features on the likeness of Matt. She took a few seconds to gaze upon the creature's still face. Indeed, he had the soft and angelic structure of her friend, and she allowed herself to marvel at the delicate perfection she had created in such a short time. He was truly beautiful, but in his lifeless self it was more the icy beauty of a Greek statue rather than that of a living, rosy-cheeked young man. Vivianna even dared to smile proudly, thinking that this one would surely satisfy the monster's request; and, just as she was about to apply the heat and electricity of life to the corpse, there was a loud knock at the door.

Vivianna stopped everything. She heard carefully, wondering if the lack of sleep was altering her senses. But there was truly a knock at the door, and Vivianna walked up the stairs to the great hall, and approached the door, and opened it –to find none other than Henrika herself, just as lovely as ever, dressed to the nines in a regal purple winter jacket and a darling lilac dress, a black fur hat with a purple feather, black lace gloves and a charming little beaded handbag.

As soon as the door was opened Henrika embraced her friend, and while at first she was too shocked to react, Vivianna embraced her back, hugging her with all her strength, unable to stop smiling and crying.

"My dear, dear, dearest Vivianna!" cried Henrika. "Oh, I thought you may not be at home; you haven't been answering any of our letters! Matt and I were worried sick!"

"I'm so, so sorry, my love", sobbed Vivianna. "I am truly sorry. I neglected you again, so focused was I on finishing my… It doesn't matter. I have already finished the most difficult part… I think I deserve a little break from work."

Henrika beamed, and kissed her friend. "Oh, I missed you so…"

Knowing the house as well as her own, Henrika walked with Vivianna to the kitchen and fixed them some tea and homemade biscuits she had made herself for her friend. Vivianna, having not eaten in quite a while, found herself to be starving and eating, while a bit rudely, with enthusiasm. She remembered Henrika's wonderful baking, and the sweet and crisp taste of the biscuits took her back to lovely picnics in the woods, tea parties and sunny days.

"What have you been doing, Viv?" asked Henrika.

"Oh, you don't want to know… I will finish soon, though. And as soon as I do, you and I and Matt will never part ways again –we will live together here, all three of us, and stay together, and –and—"

"My dear, please, don't eat so fast," laughed Henrika. "You won't leave any for little Willard."

Vivianna raised her eyes from the plate. Henrika gazed back, and slowly her smile faded.

"What happened to Willard?"

Vivianna swallowed, and the biscuits no longer tasted as good. What happened to him, indeed?

"I… I don't know. I don't remember. I think I…" She tried her best, but could not picture the last place she had seen him. "I think I have… I think I've lost him."

Henrika frowned. "You'd never lose him. What do you mean?"

"I… I don't know what happened to him. I had Willard with me –and then I no longer had him. I don't even know…"

Henrika looked at her friend, biting her lips. She sat closer to her friend.

"Viv, why do you do this to yourself?" she asked her, embracing her again, as Vivianna broke down in tears once more. "Why do you keep hurting yourself like this? You disappear for weeks, and then… Then you reappear so tired, so thin, so sickly…"

"I cannot tell you, my love, I just can't…"

"Please –let me help you…"

Vivianna gazed at Henrika's sweet, loving face. "If I told you, my dearest friend… You'd despise me."

"I'd never," said Henrika.

"You would, yes, you would…"

Henrika kissed Vivianna to calm her, to no avail. Vivianna's sight darted to the windows, as a gust of wind hit the house and a high-pitched whistle went through the empty rooms, down the stairs and into the kitchen. She felt the monstrous doll was near.

"Please, Henrika, you must leave now."

"Now?"

"Yes, yes… I have to finish my work. I cannot stop. I cannot rest."

"But –my love –please, you can't keep on like this—"

"Leave!" cried Vivianna, in a hoarse voice –devastated by her actions, but certain that it was for the better. "Just leave! I'll call you, I'll send you a letter when I'm done. But now… Now we can't!"

"Please," sobbed Henrika, and seeing her cry broke Vivianna's heart. "Please, I long to be with you… Even in silence, even in your quiet pain… Than to not see you and worry over you for so long… Vivianna, my dearest, I can only feel at home with you."

These words almost changed Vivianna's mind; she too wanted her friend's company more than anything else in the world. But the image of the grinning doll came back to her, and resolved –with much sorrow –that it truly was for the best –and in this way, she would protect her.

"Not now, Henrika. Not now…" said Vivianna. "Please, leave."

Henrika noticed the resolve in her friend's face. There was nothing to do about it. Begging wouldn't help. So, without another word, without another sob or another look, Henrika slowly stood up and walked herself to the door. She obeyed and left, and only when she was already out of the house did Vivianna stand up and run after her, only to stop herself by the entryway.

As she saw Henrika leaving, Vivianna thought of the old days –of the days she had not a care in the world, and when she could tell Henrika everything, things she would not tell her sister, things she could not tell Matt. It consumed her, the burning desire to tell her everything –all her mistakes and the consequences –and having Henrika console and comfort her, and hug her, and kiss her, and promise her everything would be alright. She cursed herself for how she shooed Henrika away, but again the wind blew, and Vivianna closed the door, and walked down the stairs to the laboratory, and sank herself again.

But then, in the cold light of the underground and beside the white body of the creature she was about to instill life into, Vivianna reconsidered.

The young, dead man which laid on the operating table, despite his evident beauty, may become just as deformed as his predecessor after the effects of the heat and the electricity. He was to be barren, just as the previous doll was, but this did not ensure –as Vivianna could never be certain –that they could not, somehow, defying the laws of nature, find a way to reproduce and create a new race –a breed of monsters who would define themselves as the predators of humanity. He could very easily reject the doll's aggressive advances –reject a life with her –and then, Vivianna feared, she would turn to further mayhem and murder, so much she would lose any sort of empathy for others she might still have. He would be as smart as his mate, but having one previous, there was a chance he would try to separate himself from her –try, just as she did, to assimilate into society –and learn the same awful lessons she had learnt. Nothing could truly predict what he would become, and Vivianna grew more and more afraid of the possibilities. She could not picture a single good outcome. These beings, as she saw them, were aberrations fit only to spread chaos in their quest of their so-called justice, their revenge on a world which would not accept them by their own very nature as anomalies.

Vivianna then grabbed one of the tools she had used to break bones and separate pieces she couldn't find a use for –a sort of wrench with a round edge, rather like a nut cracker –and smashed it against the pale body. She busted arms, knees, the throat, the ribs, the eye sockets, as she splattered dark blood everywhere –and she continued to destroy the assembled creature until it was barely more than a mess of broken skin, exposed muscle and cracked plastic. Vivianna only stopped when she made sure nothing could be salvageable. She stared at the work of a whole exhausting week, completely ruined. A slight sense of relief washed over her.

There were heavy steps coming down the stairs. Vivianna turned around. The monster was there, and as soon as she reached the laboratory and raised her face to the hard white light, she saw the disaster that laid on the operating table. There was a moment of silence. Vivianna stared at the floor, trying not to see what she had done, expecting that everything would disappear and she would wake up from this dreadful nightmare.

"Well, you made your choice," said the unsettling doll in a low voice. "Evidently."

"I couldn't do it…" said Vivianna.

"I can see that. You _had_ done it… I can see you had almost finished, but had a change of heart."

"There was no certainty on what could happen if this project was completed… I couldn't bring myself to commit to such an atrocity once more."

"I understand," said the doll. Her voice, while still low, trembled with seething rage. "So now you must bear the consequences."

Before Vivianna could mutter anything else, the creature climbed up the stairs and disappeared once more. Vivianna took a deep breath. She wondered if she had imagined the monster's presence and words. The bloody mess on the table remained the same. Vivianna could not bear to look at it or touch it any longer. She ran up the stairs, ripping the blue apron and the gloves off her, throwing them on the floor, trying to breathe normally. She locked the laboratory's door, to make sure nobody would ever see what she had been building. And then, still with her heart beating hurriedly on her throat, Vivianna realized how empty the house was, how cold it had become, and she saw the muddy, tiny-footed steps of a barefoot creature, marking its way in and out of the house.

The consequences of the broken promise dawned on her, and Vivianna immediately thought of Henrika. She ran off –barely taking a moment to slip her jacket on –and ran through the pathway in the snow, away from the house, away to find Henrika –and make sure she would be safe.

Closest to hers was Matt's cottage, with light on the windows as the sun began to set. Vivianna, tired of running and still weak from the lack of food and rest, decided to stop by for a moment, to recover her strengths –she would need them. She knocked on his door, and Matt himself greeted her with a hug and kind words. Vivianna, however, was too overwhelmed and frightened to answer to his affection, and when he realized just how unstable she was, Matt helped her sit by the fire of the living room.

"How are you, Viv?" asked Matt, softly, as delicately as he was able to. "Are you better now?"

"No, Matt, no, somehow things turned out even worse…"

"No, don't say that; you know that things will improve from now on."

Vivianna smiled back at Matt, wishing she could believe him.

"How are you, Matt?"

Matt managed to keep the smile on his face, but his eyes darkened with grief. "I do still miss Elliot… I miss him so very much. I miss his voice and his smile, and how he lighted up when we laughed together… I miss the days when we were all together. We used to be so bright and happy back then… And now everything is so complicated, and painful, and I don't know why."

Vivianna closed her eyes as the memory of Elliot's screams came back to her. She considered telling Matt –confessing to him, as she should have done with Henrika; but just then Matt clasped her hands.

"My dear friend, I have something important to tell you," whispered Matt. Vivianna became nervous again. "I don't want to tell you this; I wish I could just enjoy your company, and that we could catch up and have a nice time, and try to forget all our misfortunes… But you should know. And this cannot wait."

"What is it?" asked Vivianna.

"Henrika… She's gone."

Vivianna covered her face with her hands, and let out a long pained cry.

"No, no, not like that! She's not gone in that sense," said Matt quickly, trying to get his friend to continue listening. "She came by just about an hour you came here. Her face was white, as if she had seen a ghost… She told me that after leaving your house she had a very strange encounter."

Vivianna blinked. She herself was becoming paler, as her suspicions over the encounter grew and turned into certainties.

"Henrika told me someone came to her –she wouldn't say who, she wouldn't even describe them… But she swore that this person told her the truth –told her of something awful, about a horrible crime, something she couldn't believe but which somehow made the most sense."

Vivianna was now shaking with fear.

"Did… did Henrika tell you what that truth was?"

"No. She simply stopped by for a bit of food and drink. Then, I gave her my knit cherry red hat and my matching periwinkle blue and white scarf for her to take for her walk home; but then she said she wouldn't go back home. She said she had to leave, to go far away, to escape… She said she would never return. She said it would be the last time we would see each other."

"Did she say anything about…?" Vivianna couldn't talk without stammering. "About me?"

"No. I asked her if she came from over your house, since she was around. I didn't expect her to say yes. We both thought you were the one who would not return, when you went to the forest in the middle of the winter…"

"Why did she leave?"

Matt sighed. "I don't know. She wouldn't say. Henrika only repeated that it couldn't be, but it was, but couldn't be, but it was… I worried she might have gone mad."

"Oh, my dear Henrika…"

"Did you say anything to her that might have upset her?"

Vivianna knew what it had been that upset Henrika. She was certain her friend had met the monster when she left the house, and that it was the monster who told her about the truth about crime of Marianna –and who what else? –and forced Henrika to leave and to never talk to her friends again. So the creature's threats had not been empty. She did mean to condemn Vivianna to utmost solitude.

On the verge of desperation, Vivianna grabbed Matt's hands even more tightly and pulled him to her, her whole body shaking.

"Matt –my good, only friend –now you must understand we can't be apart. My Marianna, my Henrika, your Elliot –all of them have left us so suddenly, so unexpectedly, and all we have now is each other. You know something, something terrible is after us…"

"Some kind of malicious curse, yes…" nodded Matt, as desperate as she was. "But –what did you say to Henrika?"

"I said nothing to scare her, I promise on my mother's grave," sobbed Vivianna. "I promise, I swear, I would never do something to scare or hurt her. You know very well how close Henrika and I are… You know I would never do anything to hurt her."

"Perhaps you did something to help her," said Matt. "I'd understand –I know that sometimes we have to do things we don't like in order to help others. But—"

"I did nothing, Matt… You know I haven't done anything," she cried, now with the misery of a panicked child. "Please, say you believe me… Say you'll stay with me, so we'll be safe. Promise you won't leave me too."

"Alright. I understand… Alright. Please, Viv, don't cry, it kills me to see you cry."

Matt approached his hand to Vivianna's face to wipe her tears. Vivianna recoiled in fear, before he could touch her.

"I'm –I'm sorry, I can't… I'm so afraid, now. I've been trying so hard to contain this fear, but now… Now that Henrika has left us and gone who knows where, far away from us, I can't… I can't help myself, I can't keep my fear hidden any longer."

"I know. I'm afraid too," said Matt, embracing his friend. "We will get over this. We will survive, I promise you, my dear Viv. We will live, in honor of Marianna and Elliot, we will live and be happy. They wouldn't have wanted to see us so sad."

Vivianna wondered what her little sister had thought of her, before dying. She knew Elliot's last thoughts had probably gone to her, to cursing her and her existence, to cursing her silence. Vivianna had both their deaths –and now Henrika's flight, too –hanging over her head, as twilight sank the small cottage in the dark of night, and they both tried to sleep.

…

Next morning Vivianna and Matt decided to move to the Frankenstein house, in part because it was Vivianna's inheritance and because it was generally safer than the little cottage her parents had left Matt. Never mind, Vivianna thought, that the monster had managed to creep inside; she would install new locks, bolt the doors, buy dogs, do anything necessary to keep the creature out. As they walked together in silence, Matt carrying a trunk with all his belongings and Vivianna wrapped in a thick brown leather coat he had lent her, Vivianna realized how truly and deeply she had chosen a life of fear when she destroyed that body on the operating table. She would have to lock the door to the laboratory too, to make sure Matt would never see it. Yes, they would have to live in panic, and she, the most tortured of the two, would have to also yield the weight of the lies and the guilt she carried for all the reasons of their sorrows. Snow began falling on them, and despite it being almost midday, the sun barely shone behind a thick layer of clouds. Walking became even more difficult. Both panted in the effort to move forward, and yet they went on, closing their eyes as the wind blew the flurry into their faces. They were deafened by the strong whistle of the wind, and the sound of their own heartbeats, and their heavy breathing, as they kept moving forward.

"Hey, Viv?" asked Matt, his voice cracking, as he tripped and strained to pull up his trunk.

"Yes, Matt?"

"I had wanted to ask you… If you don't mind… Whatever happened to—?"

Vivianna stopped and kept still. Matt stopped beside her. They were stunned by the sight.

The Frankenstein house, still a few miles away from them, atop the hill it had always stood upon, was burning to the ground. The flames danced in the wind, rising higher and higher, the black smoke column ascending and staining the sky like an ink blot. Under the sounds of their own tired bodies, they heard the hissing of the flames and the crackling of burnt wood. The fire had been set a while ago –the house was on the verge of collapsing –and not even the fresh snow could do anything to slow down the impending disaster. As the top floor crumpled and sank, all blackened furniture and ashes, it pounded the ground with the sound of hundreds of beautiful, old things crashing and breaking and bursting and crumbling. Vivianna took her hand and covered her mouth, stifling a scream. Nothing would be saved. Matt put a hand on her shoulder as an attempt to comfort her. Vivianna barely noticed it. She kept trying to wake up, unblinking, to wake up from the nightmare she was living.

The house didn't stop burning. Vivianna fell to her knees. She cried for a while, as Matt resolved to keep quiet –he felt there were no words he could say to help her. He only stood by her side.

They stayed until there was nothing left to burn.

…

Vivianna and Matt decided to go to the town and try to find shelter there. The quickest way, though the less safe, was through the woods. Matt said that the road from the house to the town was long but trustworthy, and that it would be the safest path; but Vivianna said that at night, it would become colder, and that there was a possibility they would freeze to death. Reaching their destination as soon as they could, she said, was a priority.

Matt sighed, but agreed. They walked through the forest as the sun set, too exhausted and despondent to enjoy the beautiful view. Vivianna didn't even look at the sky: she was too nervous watching the woods, the trees, trotting as fast as she could without leaving Matt completely behind. The monster started the fire. The monster left them without a home. This was all the monster's doing, and if they weren't careful, the monster would come for them, too.

At one moment a strange sound made them grind to a halt. Vivianna grabbed Matt's arm in panic. But the high-pitched sounds were not that of the creature. The noises belonged, as Vivianna and Matt soon realized, to a pack of rats feasting on the carcass of a sickly young deer. Among them, Vivianna recognized a smaller, grey rat, barely the size of a child's shoe. Matt pulled her forward, trying to avert his eyes –it was a bloody mess, the open guts of the fly-covered deer –but Vivianna kept staring at the little grey rat.

"Willard?" said Vivianna, blinking rapidly.

As she spoke out loud, the rats turned from their meal and looked back at her. The little grey one even stood on its hind legs to take a better look at Vivianna. She smiled and let out a joyful laugh.

"Oh, Willard! Willard, my sweet little baby!" she cried, running toward it.

But the rat –who most certainly was Willard, yet very much changed by the challenges of living in the wild –immediately hissed and opened its mouth to reveal sharp, bloodied teeth. The other rats circled the carcass. A few flies were startled and flew away. Matt looked at the scene with a mixture of disgust and pity. Vivianna wouldn't give up just yet.

"But –why are you doing this? I'm Viv! I'm mommy!"

Willard didn't seem to recognize her anymore. He hissed again, let out an angry squeal, and when he and the other rats realized Vivianna wasn't going to steal their food, they continued eating.

"Come, Viv. There's no use," said Matt.

"But… But it's Willard. It's my baby… He's mine."

Willard didn't even turn back. Matt squeezed Vivianna's gloved hand.

And so, acknowledging they wouldn't add another member to their party, they went on.

They reached the town by midnight, maybe just a bit later. They arrived, completely spent, and Vivianna hurriedly dragged them both to an inn so they could have some sleep in a proper bed, with a proper fire by their feet. She dropped some cash on the innkeeper's desk, and soon they were huddled up in warm blankets and sunk into a deep, restless sleep.

Vivianna woke up by dawn. The small tightly shut window barely let any sunlight in, but she knew morning was coming, and that they would have to continue their journey and make sure the monster wouldn't follow them. Wrapping herself in a thick blue shawl with mustard yellow embroidering she had luckily packed before the house was burned, Vivianna went close to the window and tried to see through the frosted glass. The street below was empty, and

"Viv? Are you awake?" whispered Matt.

Vivianna sat next to him. "Yes, I am. What about you?"

Matt smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"I don't know. I feel like I have barely had any sleep at all… But at least there were no nightmares."

Matt kept quiet. Vivianna noticed his bitter expression by the dim light.

"Did you have any nightmares, Matt?"

Matt sighed and sat on the bed. "I did, yes… It's hard to remember all of it, but I dreamt… I dreamt we were back in front of the house on fire. It was less destroyed –the structure still stood –but inside from the flaming windows I could see Elliot, and Marianna…"

"Was Henrika there?" asked Vivianna.

"I can't recall. I just know that I ran into the building and tried to rescue them, but the smoke was too thick and I couldn't breathe…" said Matt in a low voice, as if the rest of the inn guests could hear him if he spoke too loud. "The fire burned my skin and the heat suffocated me, and soon I could not see clearly… I tried to climb the stairs but they crumbled from beneath my feet, and I heard Elliot and Marianna screaming in pain… I tried to do something… Yet I knew I was about to be killed by the fire myself."

They kept quiet for a moment. Vivianna could picture it perfectly in her mind, so well that it almost felt more like a memory than a dream.

"Was I in the nightmare?" asked Vivianna. "Was I in the house?"

"I don't know… I hope you weren't," said Matt. "I hope you managed to save yourself."

Matt, always so kind, so selfless. Vivianna stroke his soft wavy hair, remembering when he had placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. She hoped this gesture would be enough. Matt smiled to her, and sighed.

"Thank you, Viv. It's alright… It was just a dream."

"We can't stay here for long, Matt," said Vivianna, stroking his hair a bit hurriedly, more anxiously. "We need to leave. We aren't safe yet."

"What do you mean?" asked Matt, alarmed. "Did you see anything through the window?"

"No, no, not at all… I just mean… We aren't safe. We should keep on travelling, until we find somewhere we can truly be safe."

Matt furrowed his brow. "But, Viv—"

"Please, listen to me. You have seen the house on fire, you talked to Henrika, you know I have reasons to be afraid," Vivianna said as she tried to think of a plausible reason she could convince Matt to go on with her. "We might be cursed. What else could explain all these awful things that keep happening?"

"But what does it matter, wherever we're here or somewhere else?" said Matt. "If we're cursed, the geological location won't do anything to change it."

Vivianna huffed, holding her head on her hands, closing her eyes.

"Trust me, please, my dear Matt, we need to go away. As far as possible…" and Vivianna looked at him with her clear blue eyes, on the verge of tears. Matt couldn't possible say no to that. "Let's go, together."

"Alright, Viv. I do agree, we have to be together. We have to help each other out."

Vivianna smiled, and Matt smiled back. They embraced in silence, as the morning came and it became time to leave the warmth of the inn and venture into the cold unknown.

…

After some discussion they agreed to escape to London, England; a bustling city where there was a famous Queen, who lived surrounded by policemen and soldiers; there, Vivianna and Matt concluded, they would be safe. While on their horse drawn carriage which took them from the London train station through Clarkenwell Road towards Hackney, they began looking in their map for possible places to establish a home and plan their futures –when suddenly Matt said:

"Oh –we forgot about it completely –what are we going to say about us?"

"What do you mean?" asked Vivianna.

"Yes –to the landlord, when we arrive somewhere we can live –what will we tell them about us?"

"Well, that we're friends, of course, going on a trip together," said Vivianna, a bit muffed by the interruption, thinking it wasn't a topic as important to consider. "Or that we're on holiday… It doesn't matter."

"But… I mean…"

Vivianna opened her eyes wide, and nodded, understanding what he meant. "Oh… You're right."

"We should say we're siblings, then," said Matt.

Vivianna snorted. "Nobody would believe that."

"Why not?" asked Matt, genuinely baffled. "During the first half of my life I was raised by your family. I don't even have a surname of my own."

"You are a Frankenstein, dear Matt, and you've always been one," said Vivianna, holding his hand. "You _are_ part of our family." It felt strange to say 'our', as it was only her who remained.

"I know. So why can't we say we're siblings?"

"Because… Well, we're not. Even if it feels like that…" And an idea popped into her head. "We really aren't."

"So what do you suggest?" asked Matt.

"Well… The English are not as… Liberal, shall we say, as the Swiss," said Vivianna. "They won't look at two unrelated people of different sex living together with good eyes."

There was a short silence, only interrupted by the rhythmic clopping of the horses pulling the carriage through the snowy streets. Matt looked down. He knew what she meant.

"I mean…" said Vivianna, quietly. "Just to avoid suspicion."

"We haven't done anything wrong, Viv."

"Still…"

"But I know. Your parents wanted us to be together for so long… I guess this would be a good time as any."

Vivianna nodded. "So, then… Would you marry me?"

Matt kept his eyes down, still not looking at her. Vivianna bit her lip. She wanted to believe she was doing themselves a favor –after all it would help them to be seen as a couple, to avoid gossip and judgmental stares –and yet… She truly loved Matt, and was sure he loved her too –but not like _that_. But, most of all, she knew –even if she wouldn't admit it to Matt's face –that, as the only person left from her childhood days, what she feared most was him disappearing from her life, like Henrika did. If Matt fell for someone else, and ended up deciding to leave her, she would have nothing to rely on. She would have no one else.

"Yes, Vivianna. I'll marry you."

Vivianna expected to be happier. Though what she truly felt was more of a pang of relief, she smiled and embraced him, hoping at least he would be happy with their union.

Finally they arrived to Hackney, where they were redirected to a large house whose elder landlady rented a room. Vivianna and Matt introduced themselves as an engaged couple, and Vivianna even flashed her family ring as an excuse. Luckily for them the old lady had heard of the Frankensteins –even there the name was respected.

Vivianna paid the rent for the following two months. They quietly settled into the rooms they were given with the few trunks they had with them, and tried, once more, to get some sleep –and hopefully have no nightmares to remember the next morning.

…

Little time was wasted as Vivianna planned the wedding. During these few days, while Vivianna did everything she could to arrange the venue and establish a social life among the neighbors –making sure she and Matt were always surrounded by others, as she believed the monster would not attack them in public –Matt spent the hours moping around, being carried from place to place by Vivianna and the horse drawn carriage. He slowly limited his words to the point he barely said a few sentences for the whole day. Vivianna was confused and rather alarmed by this. Matt refused to eat and became thinner as the days went by, and while she wanted to help him and ask what was happening, Vivianna didn't know how to comfort him or how to manage his sulking. She took him to the fancy parties they soon received invitations to, and dressed him nicely, and held his hand and smiled widely when presenting themselves, and when she asked him what he thought of it all he smiled weakly and said 'it's alright', and Vivianna forced a smile and kissed his cheek to make sure everyone knew they were engaged.

As the day of the wedding neared, Vivianna wondered if the monster had indeed been following them. Nothing bad had happened since they left for London, and yet something, an illogical feeling she couldn't avoid, told her that the creature was still near, following them, watching from behind the trees, from the alleys, from the chimney-filled roofs of the city. The nightmares came back, as she saw –every single night –the lifeless bodies of Marianna and Elliot, lying on the feet of her bed, softly moving and wheezing as they tried to keep breathing through their destroyed lungs. And Henrika, who never left her dreams at all, stood by the bedroom door in her long, silky white nightdress, staring at her, completely still, like a ghost. Some nights Vivianna would call her, begging her to comfort her, to come closer, to kiss her; she could not move, with the weight of the corpses lying on her bed. Henrika did nothing. She stood, unblinking, her clear blue eyes piercing Vivianna and torturing her with every passing second of her unending condemnatory stare.

Vivianna then usually woke up and, refusing to return to bed, went into the little study and continued stitching her wedding dress, adding more and more things to entertain herself and fill the empty time. She hand-sew frills, ruffles, embroidery, lace and pearls, and more embellishments, and fitted it on herself over and over, squeezing it a bit tighter every time she tried it on, until she was the one wheezing and making an effort to breathe. And when she took off of the bulky dress, she simply had nothing else to do but sob and wait for the morning to come.

The wedding day came, just as the first day of spring arrived, and it was warm enough to forgo jackets and coats. Matt and Vivianna changed in the same room, being careful to not look at each other. There were several guests, people they had known for a very short time. Vivianna was alright with that. She only needed witnesses and reasonably pretty and decent people; she considered none of them a friend, more like acquaintances. The ceremony was celebrated, if one could call it a celebration, on a fancy boat on the Thames; Vivianna had said she had always loved the water and that she had dreamt as a child for a wonderfully beautiful wedding on a boat. The truth, of course, was that she was sure the monster could not infiltrate a large boat filled with people, and surely, she thought, the horrible doll could not swim. And after the ceremony, when Matt and Vivianna realized they had bound each other for life, they spent a quiet time on their private cabin on the ship. The sound of the waves mixed with the crackling of a small fireplace, and while still on her wedding dress, Vivianna finally took a good look at Matt, at her newly wedded husband.

Matt was so much thinner, and she hadn't even noticed it. He had lost much of his heavenly glow, and his hair was no longer bouncy and golden; it had become opaque and lifeless, just as his cheeks had become hollow and grey. He had not lost his soft features and tender eyes; and yet he looked like a shadow of his past self. Vivianna knew that at least part of the blame of his transformation fell on her.

It would be alright, she repeated to herself, refusing to take a single glance at the mirror, at herself. When they returned home, their new home, they would eat better, feel safer, sleep soundly. They could go and buy books, and play songs, and try to reclaim the lovely activities they participated in during their childhood. Both of them knew that every single thing they did was tainted with the empty space where their friends should have been. That, however, convinced Matt that they had to keep on going, keep on living, though Vivianna could feel the doubt in his voice. But there was nothing else to do, truly. If they didn't try at least to have a good time, then they would spend the rest of their lives drowning in shame and fear, and both were tired of living like that. They wanted sun and happiness and laughter back, and while the wedding didn't truly managed to lift their spirits, perhaps the upcoming sunnier days of spring would improve their humor.

Just as Vivianna was thinking of blossoming flowers and blue skies, there was a crack of thunder and rain swooped down and pounced on the small round windows of the ship's cabin. Both were startled by the sudden storm, but Matt managed to laugh nervously.

"That's London for you, I guess," he said, and Vivianna laughed too.

Vivianna approached the window. The raindrops raced down and draw lines on the glass, and as the river became wilder, it became difficult to see anything. There were many shadows on the waters, which could truly be anything. The dread climbed up her guts and into her throat, choking her, flooding her body with panic and adrenaline.

"Is everything alright?" asked Matt, taking off the black jacket of his tuxedo.

"Yes, yes, it's just… I wasn't expecting this storm."

There was another booming thunder. Vivianna grit her teeth and pressed her nails against her palms. Matt knew there was something that was upsetting her.

"We should get some sleep, Viv," he suggested. "We'll arrive to shore by the morning. We should sleep until the sun comes up."

"You do that, Matt," said Vivianna, still watching through the window. "I'll go outside, to the deck."

"Now? But it's pouring out there!" said Matt. He didn't seem really tired at all. "You'll get all wet."

"Don't worry, dear," And it had become strange to call him _dear_. "I have a raincoat. I'll be alright. You just have some rest."

Matt sighed, but let her go out without another word. Vivianna wrapped herself with another piece she had designed and sewn, a dark blue –almost black –rain cloak made of a thick waterproof fabric resembling fine shimmery silk. She walked out and into the heavy rain, making sure as best as she could that her pure white wedding dress wouldn't be ruined.

There was no one else outside; there was only rain and the noise of the waves. Vivianna grasped the edge of the deck, trying to keep her balance. The wind shoved her and the water entered her eyes, her nose, her mouth, messing her delicately braided hair. As she blinked furiously, trying to get to see something, Vivianna wondered if there was much difference between that situation and being completely underwater. She gasped for air, swallowing quite a bit of rain, but managed to partly cover her eyes and see around her. The ship was still moving forward, albeit unsteadily. Around the shores of the Thames were the English houses, used to the foul weather. And yet, she noticed, there was no one on the streets, not even a single umbrella to be seen. Vivianna turned around, almost slipping, to make sure she wasn't just imagining it. But indeed, the streets were empty. Nobody came out during the outpour, only her, it seemed. She scanned the streets, the alleys, the roofs, as well as she could, to try and find the silhouette she was already very familiarized with –but there was no one, not even the monstrous doll, outside during the storm. So Vivianna wondered, _what am I doing here?_

Suddenly there was a blood curdling, dreadful scream. Vivianna turned around to see the little door going down to the cabin –the little door was half open –but she had closed the door, so no water would come in. The realization of the truth made Vivianna's eyes widen, her mouth open, despite the heavy rain, and a chill went up her spine; the scream was repeated, and Vivianna, fearing the worst, certain of the worst, ran back inside.

Dripping wet, Vivianna stopped right as she stepped inside the warm room. The monstrous doll was there, yes, as soaking wet as she herself was; and Matt was also there –but, by some fortunate timing, he was still alive, though white as a sheet. Both the creature and Matt looked back at Vivianna, as Vivianna looked back at them. There was a brief silence, before the monster said:

"Shut the door, please. Don't let the cold in."

Vivianna, intimidated but assured that the monster had left her husband alive for another one of its devilish deals, closed the door and took off her raincoat. Her wedding dress did suffer a bit due to the storm. As it gazed upon her, by the light of the small fireplace, the doll let out a sigh.

"Look at you. You appear as an angel, all in white, all shiny, sparkly and smooth. Did you have a good ceremony?" it asked, and Vivianna gritted her teeth. "Were you happy?"

"I cannot be happy, knowing your sword of Damocles hangs upon me –upon _us_."

Matt looked at the monster, then at Vivianna.

"Viv –please –what is happening?" asked him, trembling. "Who… What _is_ this?"

"Leave, now," said Vivianna, with a confidence she did not know in herself.

"You know why I'm here," replied the creature. "And you know I won't leave."

"Please –can someone tell me—?"

"Now will I tell you," said the creature to Matt. "Be patient. This is a momentous occasion."

"You won't tell him anything!" yelled Vivianna, losing her composure. "You don't deserve to speak, to have a single word said your way! You monster, you devil, you _inhuman, heartless parody of life!_"

"Well, it wasn't a very funny parody, was is?" grinned the monster. "Was it, mother?"

Matt was stunned. "_Mother?_"

"Yes," said the monster, grinning even more. "Let's come clean and tell the boy the truth."

"What truth?"

"Don't believe a thing this fiend says, Matt," said Vivianna, both wanting to pounce at the monster and to keep a safe distance from it. "It's all poisonous lies."

"I do not lie," said the creature. "I never do. And since he doesn't know, just as Henrika did not know… They deserve to know the truth. You know that, Vivianna, my creator."

"What does Henrika have to do with this?" asked Matt.

"I was the one who told her to stay far from you and her, from you two. But especially, particularly you," said the creature, now pointing at Vivianna. "I revealed to her the truth about her dear friend."

Vivianna's heart skipped a beat. She now had confirmation of her long-held suspicions. "You kept her away from me."

"No. She kept away from you. It was her choice."

"What did you tell her?" asked Matt.

"That I was the one who killed Marianna," said the monster, and its voice did not falter, nor did it swell with pride. For the creature, the murder was trivial, not something it could be bothered by. "I killed her in the woods, and when the trial came and the young man you called Elliot was caught, I knew I had dented my creator's happiness in a way she would never recover from."

Matt looked at Vivianna. "But Elliot… He was killed because of—?"

"I did not intend to frame him," said the creature. "But I do admit it was a fortuitous coincidence."

"Wait –so… You _made_ this thing?" Matt asked Vivianna.

Now Vivianna couldn't say a word. This moment was what she had been dreading for several weeks. The truth was coming out, and it was so ugly she could barely bear to open her mouth.

"I… I did make her… I made this thing, yes," admitted Vivianna. "It was something I made during my time in the academy. This was the project that held me off from replying all those letters, and returning home."

Matt gazed at the creature's deformed face. All wet and slick, all reddened by strain and fury, it was even more of a beastly sight. By the dim cold light of the small window and the warm glow of the fireplace, her body seemed further deformed, even with the black cloak that hid most of it.

"How did you even… What even is this, Viv?"

"I assembled her. It's made from several pieces and parts, organs and limbs from an assortment of creatures… I did what I could, and took what I found, in my attempt at crafting a body to instill life into."

"But –how did you—?"

"It was a very complex, difficult process that I cannot possibly explain to you, Matt," said Vivianna. "Just know that it took a lot of effort and time to manage to create this, as lacking as it is."

The creature glowered at Vivianna, but said nothing.

"But –you don't even like science, Viv," said Matt. "You like designing, and sewing, and… and fashion things, for goodness' sake! Not _science_. You never demonstrated any interest in it."

"I do," she said. "I have gone to an academy. You know that, you've sent me letters."

"I thought it was a fashion academy, or something of the sort."

"Nevertheless," continued the creature. "She created me there, through a method unbeknown to me still. There, in her small academy room, I first saw the light and the fire. And I wanted to embrace my creator –thank her for the gift of life –and yet she rejected me, she despised me, she escaped me. She avoided me, and I do not doubt she has been ashamed from me ever since I opened my eyes," The creature's voice became surprisingly tinted with emotion, a distraught melancholy that almost –_almost _–moved Vivianna. "I attempted to find someone else to be the recipient of my affections. I searched for a family to adopt me. I received nothing but scorn, hatred and violence. Humanity never showed me a kind face. It kept disappointing me, every single time I made an effort to find that which you seem to call compassion. So I stopped trying, and I stopped searching. I decided to devote my life to pay in kind the treatment I deserved. I knew there was someone in particular who had been particularly inhuman to me, and so I set my sights on her, Vivianna Frankenstein, my mother, creator and goddess, the most powerful and wretched creature in the Earth."

Matt was beginning to understand. "Do you… Do you _really _have that power?"

"I do," replied Vivianna. "Though I wish I didn't have it, I wish I never discovered it. I wish I could have left it untouched."

"And you created this thing, this creature…" said Matt. "And you really did abandon it."

Vivianna grit her teeth. "That doesn't matter now."

"Yes; what matters now, is what you will do, young Matthew Frankenstein, with that information," said the creature.

"What do you mean?" asked Vivianna.

"I gave Henrika the same option. I informed her of me, of my crimes and yours, of the blame you held for the death of Elliot –who you did not truly help during his trial –and of the secrets you, my creator, my destroyer, kept from those you say you love."

"I can't believe you'd never tell us any of this," muttered Matt.

"Matt, please, how could I…?"

"So now you have to make a choice, Matthew," said the creature. "The same I offered Henrika. You can choose to believe me, and recognize that your friend and bride is as much a monster as I am, reject her and stay away from her, and so I'll spare you; or you can obey her and convince yourself that what I said are lies, that I am the sole guilty and villain of this story, and that Vivianna was innocent all along, and so I'll kill you."

Vivianna covered her mouth with her hand. So this was the monster's game.

Matt glanced at Vivianna, and then at the monster. He seemed deeply lost. "Why… Why should I believe you?" he asked the creature.

"Because I say the truth," said the creature.

"But… I believe Viv –I believe Vivianna, because… Because…"

"Because you're my friend," said Vivianna.

Henrika had believed the monster, and she had chosen to leave her. She couldn't let Matt get away too. Vivianna just couldn't let that happen.

Matt looked back at Vivianna. He had his tender, loving eyes again, those she was raised trusting. "You have always been so kind. You've been such a good friend… You cared so much for us, even when you were afar –I knew you wanted to see us… You are a good friend, Viv. I just don't know now if you're much of a good person."

Vivianna went livid.

"But… I cannot believe that my friend is a killer, or an accomplice," said Matt, now to the creature. "I don't believe she knew it was your hand that killed Marianna. If she did know, she would have helped Elliot. He was our friend too –I know Viv, I know she would never let down a friend like that."

The monster seemed like it was stifling a laugh.

"Vivianna may not be perfect –she may not have been gentle to you –but I think it's understandable. She was afraid, after all… She had made a mistake," said Matt, more to himself than to the others in the room. "I cannot blame her for that."

"Can you blame her for her lies, then?" said the creature.

"No. No, she did not lie," insisted Matt. "She just didn't know. She couldn't have… Vivianna was in shock. I know how sick she had been, Henrika told me…"

"So why do you think Henrika left?"

"I think she might have been more susceptible to your words… Henrika has always been a bit too charitable," said Matt. "A bit too gullible."

Vivianna held her breath. Matt kept his eyes on his hands, head hanging low, racing through his thoughts.

"Have you made your choice, then?" asked the creature.

Matt let out a chuckle. "There's not much of a choice, is there?"

"Of course you have a choice," said the creature, slowly leaning down, getting closer and closer to Matt. "You need to prepare yourself for the consequences, that's all. If you are prepared, then the choice is clear."

Vivianna then burst into tears, fell to her knees, and held Matt's hands. "Oh, please, Matt, my dear, my dear friend, you must know… I never wanted any of this to happen… I loved you and Henrika and Marianna –and Elliot, yes –so, so much… I never wanted anything bad to happen to you."

Matt smiled softly, and put a strand of Vivianna's messy hair behind her ear, gently stroking her face. "I know. I know you do."

The creature looked at them with an undeniable yearning. Matt raised his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I trust Vivianna. I know her. I know she wouldn't hurt no one. I know she's innocent."

The creature nodded with a sigh. "What trust," it said quietly. "What love."

And then, with no hurry, with no more words nor sighs, the monstrous doll's hands reached out of the black cloak, stretched towards Matt, and as he closed his eyes, the slim, long fingers of the creature wrapped his pale neck. Vivianna screamed, grabbed the hands and the wrists and tried to stop it, to shove the monster aside, but there was no use. The monster pressed its thumbs on the young man's throat, and as the tears rolled down Vivianna's cheeks, Matt's lips parted to take one last breath.

"_No!_"

And in no time, Matt laid on the bed, eyes closed, mouth halfway open, lifeless, inanimate, draped among the silk sheets and the crumpled pillows. Vivianna cried and cried, covering her face with her hands, refusing to lay eyes on the latest victim, unable to think of anything else but her unending grief. By the time she had managed to breathe normally and stop shaking, she looked around the room –the monster had disappeared, and the fireplace was cold. Vivianna sat on the bed and embraced her husband's icy body. The storm went on outside the cabin, but Vivianna could not hear it, nor could she feel the sway of the ship on the waves. Everything she felt was the soft skin and fabric under her fingers, the curls by her cheek, the drops falling from her face.

…

When the ship arrived to its destination, late at night, Vivianna picked Matt's body as well as she could, and managed to drag him inside the newly furbished house where they would have had their honeymoon. She locked herself in, closed all doors and windows, drew all curtains. Only the occasional groceries and strange packages entered the front door, and the new neighbors began to speculate, as they were wont to do. Some said the beautiful young woman had gone mad after the mysterious death of her husband, and that she was having him mummified so she could keep him by her side forever. Others said she was an anatomy student who murdered her fiancé to use his body for covert experiments, the type a medical school would not allow. Others, mostly children, said she was a witch who appeared as a lovely lady, with a fair smile that hid the monster underneath.

None were too far from the truth. Vivianna was indeed using Matt's body; she could not bear to part with it, the only thing she had left. Once again, all the equipment were brought, and all the necessary ingredients; a new neck was in order, as well as new lungs and, just in case, a new heart. Already having done two previous attempts, Vivianna connected the veins, sewed everything together with tiny, neat stitches, made sure the nails, teeth and hair were clean. It took her almost a week, since she thought she had learnt from her previous mistakes, and now, she was going to try her greatest achievement –not only to imbue life, but to bring back what was lost. The brain and the whole nervous system was untouched. Bad weather was common in London, so soon an electric storm presented a window of opportunity. With no distractions –none at all –Vivianna worked harder and more focused than ever before, even when she had the excitement of innovation, and when she had the haste of desperation. The body was readied. The systems were working. The engines and batteries were at full capacity, and Vivianna, her body aching from the effort, calibrated everything to the finest degree.

The lightning began. The thunder was audible even from the darkest nooks of the barred house. Vivianna's thoughts were racing, alternating wildly from grief to fury to hope to despair, as she could barely control herself, as she laughed and cried and screamed like a madwoman.

And just as the proceedings were about to begin, a moment of clarity stopped Vivianna Frankenstein.

This would not bring Matt back. This could come out a hundred of different ways, all more complicated than the last one. This would not bring Matt back, not the one she knew. And he wouldn't agree to this. He wouldn't agree to her doing this to him. He had made his choice…

The lightning went on, and so did the thunder, as Vivianna tried to make her own choice. Time could not stop for her.

And finally, her heart pumping and beating loudly on her ears, her throat, her hands, she took the body of Matt off the operating table. Vivianna stripped down to her lace-trimmed chemise, and laid on the table, and the proceedings continued. She took a deep breath, and she looked up at the night sky, and pictured the rain falling down, soaking her face, the lighting flashing on her, the thunder making the ground shake. She closed her eyes.

A burst of heat and lighting flooded the sky, the house, and Vivianna's body. She choked a scream, as the pain became white-hot, almost so total it was like a complete numbness. Vivianna couldn't breathe. Her whole body convulsed and her limbs stretched and writhed violently.

Vivianna had made up her mind during those last few seconds before she laid on the table: the only thing she could do, the only option she had, was to take revenge. She could not fight the monster on her own –not as she was, so vastly overpowered by her own creation. And, beyond that, another thought had overtaken her: if she died, the monster won. If the creature could see a world without her creator in it, without its goddess, then the creature would win. And that was unacceptable. The only thing to do was to be the monster –to recreate herself –to have and never lose the power.

…

Vivianna opened her eyes to a quiet, sunny morning. She trembled as she sat and set her feet on the floor, but as she took her new first steps, she knew she remembered everything. She put on her dress again, packed up her bags, locked the house and left before anyone woke up, before anyone could notice her departure.

The power she now had was not evident, luckily; she had not suffered any particular physical change, save perhaps a certain hardness of the skin, a certain tension she sometimes felt when the weather was changing. But Vivianna did notice how her body was now stronger, impervious, and how, as time went on, age didn't seem to produce any alterations.

Vivianna hatched a plan on the train to Paris, always making sure to be surrounded by people, never to be alone or even worse, alone in fields or mountains. She would remain in cities from now on, where the monster would have a difficult time attacking her, attacking anyone. Her family name was now tainted, she had become aware: from rumors of witchery and black magic, to curses and tragic mysteries, she no longer wished to be tied it. When passing the immigration offices during her arrival to France, she came up with a new name and identity: Barbara Millicent Roberts, a young fashion student, wishing to make it big in the Paris design business.

She remained in Paris for several years, learning languages, working to become one more in the crowd, practicing how to be a normal person: after so much time on her own, locked inside herself, surrounded only by her dear departed friends, she had forgotten how to behave, how to talk, how to be. Smiles and a great personality alone weren't enough. To survive and thrive in the difficult, competitive world she had been sheltered from since birth, she had to learn its ways, to accommodate, to accept things not going her way –to immediately work on improving her situation.

Vivianna Frankenstein, now permanently renamed Barbara Roberts, took the last few million dollars left in her family account, and took to the United States in 1959. She passed again through the immigrations office, quite easily, due to her impeccable English and flawless appearance. And so, she tried getting jobs wherever she could, still unsure of whether the monster was still following her or not. She managed to land the job of fashion model, partly because of her fancy, tailored style and partly because she thought being on the public eye could help her to protect herself –since how would the monster try to kill her when she was so often surrounded by other models, by fans, by designers…? The fashion model lifestyle was not precisely quiet and relaxing, but Vivianna –now nicknamed Barbie –soon managed to also land the job of fashion designer –which gave her much room to exercise her sewing abilities. After that, she climbed up the company and got the job of business executive. She thought she was safe there –with the power that came with holding authority in the fashion company she had now taken over –yet a strange and gruesome crime involving her personal secretary –the poor woman was found lying on the kitchen floor of her home, strangled to death –convinced her to keep on moving, to never stay too long in one place, to surround herself with new people –and most of all, to never form any relationships the monster could use to hurt her.

So the now renamed Barbie finished her science studies and went to medical school, to become a nurse; that same year, just for fun, she decided to also become a flight attendant. By the end of the year, she also took some classes and became interested in ballet and dancing; in no time at all, Barbie became quite a talented ballerina. And, since she was already performing on stage –which did wonders to her declining self-esteem –she also took singing classes, remembering the good times she had singing with Henrika, and poured her heart in the songs she recorded. Later she also became a babysitter for the children of her fellow ballerinas and stewardesses, a temporal science teacher, an astronaut, and some time later finally finished her doctorate and became a licensed surgeon, and also a cheerleader, as she discovered American sports and took an interest on them too. She took a special liking to skiing, and became an Olympic athlete on that category, the only one to design and sew her own gear; the good publicity her silver medal gave her led Barbie to land a role in a sports movie, as the best friend of the protagonist. Her breakout role and good reviews went on to land her a protagonist in a fantasy movie, as the beautiful princess of a magical land; a panic attack during shooting, however, as she was attacked by the monster antagonist for a scene, made her known as a difficult actress to work with, so she decided to retreat for a while –it had been a lot of jobs for a long time, and by the beginning of the eighties, Barbie felt understandably exhausted.

She retreated to her private ranch in Oklahoma, where she lived for a while as a cowgirl. There she was the happiest she had been for quite a long time. The desert, with its flat horizons and immense roaming space, gave her a certain comfort. If the monster wanted to attack her, she would see it coming from miles away. Besides, American gun laws were flexible enough for her to load up on weapons to defend herself and her cows in case the monster should appear.

The money, however, ended up running short. Barbie had to sell her cows and was evicted from her ranch, and so she moved back to the city, and started from the bottom once again –as a McDonald's cashier. She got a job as an aerobics instructor –it was still the eighties, after all –and, once more, she managed to use her natural charisma and well preserved beauty to make her aerobics classes a country-wide phenomenon, selling tapes of how to lose weight through aerobics and launching a new sport clothing line. With a new fortune achieved, Barbie went back to schooling, became a veterinarian –mostly to see rats like Willard again, though she swore to herself never adopt a pet –since it would put it in risk of being killed by the monster, which she was still certain was following her –and agreed to a contract with Universal Studios to become an actress again, with more freedom to choose the roles she wanted to play. Barbie headlined a few musicals that had a good reception but were quickly forgotten by the public at large.

By now, at the tail end of the eighties, Barbie was already living on sleeping pills and protein shakes and was completely devoted to working as much as possible, staying as little as possible on one place, doing the most with the time she had given herself.

As she slowly sank into depression, Barbie decided to train as much as possible to protect herself for the imminent attack of the monster that still haunted her every night. She joined the American army, making her best to ignore the institutional sexism of her officers and her fellow soldiers (she was rather used to it by then), and in the span of three years she achieved the position of Army Officer, Air Force Pilot, Marine Corps sergeant, and Army Medic. While training every day to reach her ultimate physical ideal, Barbie became almost by accident a UNICEF ambassador, which she was very thankful for but remained rather confused about. The goodwill of the people –she was seen by the voters as al almost supernatural overachiever who was unbelievable youthful and pretty, deeply charismatic and absolutely stylish –also managed to help her into a political campaign she didn't see coming, but she nonetheless took advantage of it –since who was safest in the country than the POTUS? –and devoted herself to her presidential campaign.

Unfortunately, her attempts at communicating her policies through rapping –since she heard that was popular with the youth –during a debate cut her presidential campaign short. Desperate to regain the public goodwill she once had a strong grip on, she joined both the Washington Police Force and the Volunteer Fire Department. Despite her great physical strength and thorough military training, her lack of ability for team playing led to her dismissal from both. Unable to rest, she joined a cooking school almost out of boredom, and became a mildly respected chef. Craving the excitement of the army and the police force and the fire department, Barbie took a few driving classes and became a NASCAR driver. She didn't win any big prizes, though. So she went on to train to become a basketball player and join a major league, though once again her difficulty for team playing played against her.

By a strange mistake, she also became the youngest United States President for three days, before being ultimately replaced –something Barbie never forgave her campaign team for. Still not ready to leave the public eye, for the third time, she returned to Universal Studios and asked for one more job as an actress. While some producers were quite confused by the fact Barbara Roberts looked exactly like she did in the eighties by the beginning of the new millennium, she was given a test audition and did well enough to land a role in the first of many movies she starred in, as different iterations of magical princesses, which made her even more popular among young girls. Barbie even produced several of her own movies, though she resented how she was never allowed to write her own lines and decide on the plots.

As premieres followed interviews and publicity stunts, Barbie realized the true affection her hundreds of young fans held for her. These children, she came to understand, were the ones who kept her afloat for the last two decades, and while there were days she could barely get out of her bed or leave her personal trailer and act the scene of the day, she could feel the passion and love these children had for her during each movie release, as she signed autographs, smiled for the cameras, and answered fan questions.

Barbie took a break from acting, ultimately, as she finally found a sense of safety. She lived once day at a time, trying not to let her fears get a hold of her, and while still refused to form any strong relationships out of habit, Barbie managed to be something close to happy, enjoying quiet afternoons in her mansion in Malibu.

And yet… A quiet life was not something that Barbie could enjoy for very long. She decided to go back to teaching; since no scripts she liked reached her desk, her next best option was to return to schools and teach some of the many, many things she had learned in her long lifetime.

And so, Barbie became a science teacher, returning to her first love: science. And she's been doing pretty well as a science teacher, ever since."

…

Kelly stared at Barbie, completely dumbfounded.

"Wait… But…" mumbled Kelly, trying to wrap her head around the very long last few years of Vivianna Frankenstein. "But if… Vivianna was… Then…"

Barbie smiled enigmatically. Kelly put her hand on her forehead, trying to think, to make sense of it all. "So… All that time… Vivianna was _you_?"

"Oh, who knows?" laughed Barbie, shrugging. "Who's to say…? But it does make a good story, now, doesn't it?"

"But –are you Vivianna? –I mean, were you Vivianna…? I'm confused."

"Well, I guess that's a story for another day."

Kelly looked down at the textbooks and papers she had been meant to been studying for the past hour. She tried to remember how it came that Barbie had told her that very long, very gruesome, very strange, very tragic story, and what it had to do with her science project in the first place.

"So, what have you learnt today, Kelly?" asked Barbie.

"I… I don't know."

The light suddenly came back. Barbie smiled. Kelly let out a relieved sigh. Now with everything visible and clear, with no dark shadows surrounding them, it almost felt like the story her tutor had told her was less of a story and more of a shared dream, an outlandish illusion that, with a little effort, she could manage to erase from her young mind. Never mind the rain that kept pouring, the noise of the storm pounding on the windows. Barbie had always had a penchant for storytelling.

The grandfather clock rang. Barbie closed her books and papers and put them back into her leather bag. Kelly gathered her own textbooks and notes, and let another sigh.

"Are we doing something about my science project next time?" she asked.

"Of course!" said Barbie. "Though I daresay you are more ready now to dissect that little slimy frog. Don't you think?"

Kelly couldn't deny that.

The light suddenly went out again –now with a burst of sparks coming from the main ceiling light, as the bulbs shattered. Kelly let out a small, scared shriek. The darkness was back.

"Something must have broken –perhaps there was a short circuit on the—" commented Kelly in an attempt at seeming braver than she felt.

Barbie shushed her. She raised her head and listened carefully. Slowly, she reached out and grabbed Kelly's arm. Kelly was confused, but let her do it anyway. Barbie turned to the windows, holding Kelly closer and closer to herself, almost as if she was shielding her from something.

"Um, Barbie…?"

One of the large bay windows shattered –the glass flew out inside the room –the shards tinkled on the wooden floor. Barbie covered Kelly so she wouldn't be on the way of the glass. Kelly barely had time to scream when Barbie moved back and gazed, with wild open eyes, at the windows –and so Kelly saw too –a dark figure, soaked in rain and illuminated by lightning, standing there.

"Get behind me, Kelly," said Barbie in a grave voice, serious, authoritative, that Kelly had never heard from her before. "Now!"

Kelly obeyed. The figure came forward slowly, its face in shadows. Kelly wondered if she had fallen asleep during the lesson, and was now having a terrifying nightmare.

"What are you doing here?" asked Barbie, gripping Kelly's arm in one hand and her leather bag in the other. "Why now? Why here?"

"It's been long enough," said the figure –the _creature_. In the reflection of a new lightning –as the white light bounced from the wide mirror behind the table –the creature's face became visible. Kelly wished it wasn't. The large blue eyes were glassy, surrounded by thick long eyelashes, and the nose was small and thin, and the lips were full and veiny, and there was almost no hair on its large head, and the proportions were so outrageous Kelly became almost certain she was dreaming. Nonetheless, she screamed at the sight. The monstrous doll ignored her scream. "And I thought you wouldn't tell the whole story. I thought you'd have the good sense to keep it to yourself."

"What do you care?" grunted Barbie. "If you want a fight, well, go on. I'm ready. I've been getting ready for this for years."

"I don't care for fighting," said the creature. "What I care for is you telling others about me –warning others –I think you want people to find me and destroy me, because you're afraid of doing so yourself."

"Do you think I'm afraid?" asked Barbie, and Kelly at least could not perceive anything even close to fear in her voice. "I was telling her the story just like that –as a story. I know she wouldn't believe it. It's been a long time since people have believed a thing I said," smiled Barbie, and she lowered her hand holding the leather bag. "You've exposed yourself in your attempt at keeping yourself hidden."

"Well, isn't that ironic," said the creature, now looking at Kelly. Barbie pulled her further behind her, to keep her out of sight. "Yet you should have known you have condemned the child by telling her the truth. That's the price you pay –that you've always had to pay –for neglecting the consequences of your actions."

"You're not laying _a single finger_ on her," said Barbie. She pulled out of her leather bag a long sword with a shiny pink handle. "You can leave now, or I can take this chance to finish this once and for all."

Kelly now wondered if she truly had the imagination needed to come up with such a scenario.

"So? What will your choice be?" said Barbie, taunting the creature. Even from behind her, Kelly could hear the pride, the gloating on her tutor's voice. She truly had no fear. She seemed to relish the moment.

"I can't leave any loose ends –not even a child, not even someone who people would never believe," said the creature. "Best to do as you said, and finish this once and for all."

There was a clap of thunder. Barbie walked forward, brandishing her sword.

"Not here. Not in front of the child," said Barbie. "She shouldn't have to see this."

"Now you're worrying about others? That's new," said the creature. "Well then, I guess I can allow you one last wish."

Faster than what Kelly could expect, the creature grabbed Barbie's ponytail –pulled it hard –and threw itself along her through the broken window, down to the beach below.

"_Barbie!_" screamed Kelly.

She ran toward the window, careful not to touch any broken glass, to see the fight going on below. Barbie was an expert swordswoman, moving elegantly and swiftly, going from position to position, perfectly blocking and attacking. And yet the creature had brute force, knew its way around the sword's hits, which did barely seem to hurt it.

Unable to keep away and hide, and overtaken by curiosity, Kelly run out of her house and through the stairs to the beach, where the dark sea was full of crashing waves, and the rain fell even harder, the wind whistled harder, everything felt heightened. Kelly thought she should have grabbed her raincoat before running out.

"Barbie, look out!" cried Kelly.

The creature punched Barbie hard on the face –a hit that would have knocked out anyone. But Barbie merely stood up, wiped the blood off her lip, and, panting, charged back again at her enemy. The creature now had a large, awful grin on its face, certain as it was of its victory. Indeed, it was much, much larger than Barbie, an imposing figure even though Barbie was plenty tall –at least to Kelly, who was rather short.

The sword, which did seem to barely do anything, almost snapped inside the strong grip of the creature's hand. Barbie tried to pull it away, but even though ink-black blood trickled down the creature's forearm, it did not release.

"Give up now," said the creature, low enough that only Barbie could hear it. "Please, my creator, just give up. I know you have wanted to do so for so, so long… You don't have to live in fear."

Barbie softened her grip. Her whole being seemed to unwind, as her arms lost their tension, as her face lost its determination. Kelly covered her mouth, expecting the worst, guessing what was next. She truly seemed to be about to give up. The creature released the sword, which dangled from Barbie's loose arm, and gave her a small smile now, a little smile of pride, yes –but also of sympathy. Finally, after all that time, they did see eye to eye.

"You are right…" muttered Barbie. "I shouldn't have to live in fear."

And with that Barbie gripped the pink handle, raised her arm –and before the creature could even react –she cut the creature's head. Kelly let out a scream. The head rolled down the damp sand and stayed face down next to the sea foam. The remaining body shook a little, then fell to its knees before collapsing for good. It was still quavering, some remaining life trying to hold on to the damaged body, by the time Kelly approached her tutor.

"Barbie! Are you alright…?"

Barbie also collapsed, yet much more gracefully. She sat on the sand, with her hand on her ribs, where the creature had kicked her before. Despite everything she didn't seem to have suffered much damage. The rain washed away much of the blood, and the dark of the night concealed many of the bruises. The only thing that betrayed that apparent normality was the heavy panting, as Barbie tried to catch her breath. Kelly sat next to her, not minding the rain and the wet sand anymore, trying her best to avert her eyes from the still moving dead body a few meters aside.

"Yes, it was nothing," said Barbie quietly. "Don't worry about me."

It was not nothing. Barbie was still too tired to celebrate, but she had –finally –after decades –completed her revenge. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sky, remembering that fateful night in which she had given up her mortality. Barbie took a deep breath as the lightning lit her face, and she smiled, as she finally –_finally _–felt herself at peace.

"Barbie… How did you become so good at sword fighting?" asked Kelly.

"I had lessons to prepare for a role, in one of my movies," said Barbie. "Then I kept practicing, just for the fun of it."

"How did you know that you had to cut the head to kill it?"

"After I retired for a while from the public eye, I began doing little experiments, knowing that I had to confront my past sooner or later. So I tried with animals –first worms, then frogs," And she gave Kelly a little smile. "And later with mice and rats, until I could be certain that, with a resuscitated being, the only thing that could truly and definitely kill it was chopping its head off its body."

Kelly nodded, as if this made total sense. They spent a moment in silence, watching the furious sea, under the heavy rain. Suddenly Barbie stood up, stretched her neck, and looked at her student.

"Come, Kelly," said Barbie. "We need to dispose of all this."

"What?"

Kelly flinched and moved back. Barbie sighed. She kneeled in front of Kelly, looked deep into the child's eyes, and said: "I wish you didn't have to see this, I truly do. But now it's too late. I need help to push this deep enough into the ocean, so it will never be found. The body will sink, I am certain of that."

"But—"

"I need your help, Kelly. Please."

Kelly swallowed, but agreed. She also stood up, and they approached the body –which was fortunately, permanently still –after Barbie grabbed the head and, like an expert volleyball player, tossed it far into the sea. Then, Barbie picked up the torso of the creature, arguably the heaviest half. Kelly, with her child arms, tried her best to pull up the corpse's long legs. They both moved slowly but surely towards the sea, and as they walked in –already pretty soaked by the rain by the time they were knee deep into the water –the body became heavier, as the water pulled it downward.

"Not yet, not yet. It needs to go deeper," said Barbie.

They went only as far as young Kelly's height could allow them. She stayed behind when the water reached the child's waist, and Barbie pulled through the last few meters, and she dropped the body –walked back to Kelly –and held her hand tight to make sure the waves wouldn't push her too much, as they returned to the shore.

"What are you going to do now, Barbie?" asked the child.

"I… I truly don't know. I'm free, now," she said. The storm was slowly stopping, as the rain became softer, and the wind was not as harsh. "Finally, for the first time in years, I'm free."

Kelly smiled, a little bit because she liked to see Barbie smile again, and because on the horizon over the sea some sunrays were visible. The dawn was near.

"Will you come to tutor me next week?"

Barbie smiled again, though a little bitterly. "I'm sorry, Kelly. I don't think I can. Your mother will surely think badly of me after seeing all that broken glass."

"No, but I'll explain it!" cried Kelly, clinging to her tutor's arm. "I'll make something up…"

"No, Kelly, I don't want you to lie for me," said Barbie. "You can tell your mother, it's alright. After all, she won't believe you. She'll probably conclude it was a strong gust of wind of a particularly determined seagull or something of the sort."

"I don't want you to leave, Barbie…" sobbed Kelly. "Please… I want to learn more. I want to know more. I want to know all you know. I want to be like you."

Barbie stroke Kelly's damp hair. The rain had stopped. "I know. I just want to tell you… Be careful. And be aware of the consequences, always."

Barbie stood up. Kelly wiped away her tears. Her tutor gave her a last small kiss on the forehead, gave her a little hand squeeze, and walked away on the beach, away, until she became so small she could not be distinguished anymore from the faraway rocks which were still being punished by the waves. And as Barbie left her life for good, Kelly turned back to the sea –and witnessed the most beautiful sunrise, the sky opening to reveal golden sunlight and the loveliest colors lighting up the horizon.

And so, young Kelly Sheridan learnt a very valuable lesson: to never, ever, play God.


End file.
